


In The Weeds

by i_love_tofu_so_much



Series: Mise En Place [2]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, this pt. II is a lil different hope ya dont mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_love_tofu_so_much/pseuds/i_love_tofu_so_much
Summary: In The Weeds: (restaurant slang, of a cook or server) Overwhelmed with diners' orders.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: Mise En Place [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888039
Comments: 18
Kudos: 158





	In The Weeds

**Author's Note:**

> *thank u all for the tremendous amount of love for Mise, i hope you enjoy this lil (but also kinda long) pt. II! as evident by the title, we maybe got a lil drama, but we're also here for the good vibes as well! enjoy<3

_“_ _Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”_

 _-_ _Harriet Van Horne_

“Chris! This is perfect!”

“No.”

“But babe-”

“This is gonna get you killed.” Christen exclaims, shaking her head at how unreasonably excited Tobin is being right now. 

“Not after I get my hands on her." Tobin says, both hands now planted on her hips as she gazes at the rust-bucket with four wheels.

After about a month of research and patience and scrolling through Craigslist, Tobin finally found what she believes is the best vehicle to hold three constantly moving chefs and a bunch of food for their exciting food truck adventure. When she had seen it pop up as a new listing, Tobin didn't waste a second before setting up a time to check out the potential meals on wheels. And of course, she had to bring her girlfriend (of officially two months!) along for some logistical and emotional support.

But Tobin does not feel very supported with the prominent frown stuck onto Christen's face. 

"C'mon, Chris. I know she isn't the cutest thing on the street but with a bit of elbow grease, she’ll put all other trucks to shame!" Tobin declares with some adorably wild arm gestures.

Christen remains silent, still studying the truck's bulky body, the off-putting color, and the reddish rust crawling over almost every visible surface of metal. When Tobin had opened up the back to reveal where the “magic of cooking” would happen, Christen literally gasped at the sight of the jungle gym of rust inside. Just looking at it gave her tetanus. 

She takes a slow sip of the coffee in her hands before looking over at Tobin's excited face. She can't help but smile at how animated her girlfriend is, even if it's for a broken-down truck (which apparently identifies with female pronouns) that could surely use some tender loving care.

But Christen knows how tenderly Tobin loves and cares. She’s seen it in every aspect of Tobin’s life so far, especially in the food she makes, and she’s already experienced such warmth for the two months that they’ve been dating (and since they first met if she’s being honest). They’re still in that light, bubbly phase of their relationship, complete with adoring smiles and cute date nights. But even so, Christen knows that Tobin isn't a "part way" sort of person. When she feels, she feels with nothing short of her entire soul. So even though Christen’s standing here in this sketchy-looking garage looking at this sketching-looking truck, she knows that Tobin will put everything she has into turning it into a fully functional food truck. And even with her apprehensions, Christen knows that she'll be there for Tobin every step of the way. 

Finally, Christen sighs and says, "If it makes you happy… then I suppose it is a pretty good deal. Even with the extra amount of work you'll need to put into it."

Tobin practically squeals, quickly engulfing Christen in a big hug that almost leads to an accidental coffee-soaked shirt had Christen not moved her arm out of the way at the last second.

After the hug, Tobin pulls back with a nauseating amount of energy. "Okay! I'm gonna go let the dude know and then let Linds and Son know that we're one step closer to food truck adventures!" Tobin exclaims before enthusiastically scurrying off to find the soon-to-be ex-owner of this hunk of metal.

Christen just laughs as she watches the delighted figure runoff. 

During the past couple of months, she's loved getting to see Tobin rave about her plans for the food truck. It's definitely been a dominant talking point for most of their conversation, but Christen really doesn't mind. Not when she gets to see her girlfriend so obviously pumped about this new project and this new chapter of her life. Tobin's whole energy actually serves to invigorate Christen on a daily basis, even in the morning before her coffee and after tiring practices at night.

After their earth-shattering kiss(es) that night after the NWSL finals, the two hit the ground running with their relationship. It was all a bit fast, that’s for sure. It was a wonderful first date at a fancy-ish restaurant that Tobin got them into because she knows the head chef that works there and she claims that she had taught him how to properly dice an onion, so he owes her anyway. It’s days and days spent simply talking and being with each other because now that Christen’s season is over, the only obligations she has are some interviews here and there before she’s back on the grind with the national team. It’s most of their time spent at Christen’s home because although Tobin still has her apartment, she likes to joke that Christen has a much bigger, nicer kitchen (“ _I mean, I’m really here for the cooking amenities. You being here just happens to be an additional perk._ ”) and Christen can’t complain when she still gets five-star meals every day from a smokin' hot chef (“ _I’m only dating you for your cooking abilities, you know that right?_ ”).

So they went straight from park to fifth gear with their relationship, but having already known each other for close to six months, it’d be more accurate to say that they’ve “been together” for closer to eight months. Even before making it official, their kitchen talks as strictly personal chef and client already covered all of the foundational information that any normal relationship would have revealed in the first few months. So when Christen first slipped her hand into Tobin's on the way to dinner, she didn't even have time to panic because Tobin naturally tightened their clasped hands together. And when Tobin had introduced Christen as her girlfriend to some friends, any possible awkwardness faded the second Christen placed a relaxed, comforting kiss to Tobin's cheek. 

So they really haven't been too concerned with moving too fast because they're moving at a pace that feels appropriate and comfortable. And if that means they spend a lot of nights with each other and they go out on many dates and Christen will dedicate her afternoon to looking at a food truck with her girlfriend, then so be it.

Hearing the pitter-patter of jogging feet, Christen looks over to see Tobin approaching with a blinding smile on her face and a key dangling from her finger. 

“Pulled the trigger ‘nd she’s officially ours!” Tobin declares, taking a final accentuated hop in front of Christen once she gets within a few feet. 

“I’m glad we drove my car over here because in the state that it’s in now, I am _not_ getting in that thing.” Christen teases (but is also completely serious) as she glances at the rusted truck then back over to the rusted truck’s new owner. 

Tobin laughs even though she knows Christen’s completely serious before leaning in for a quick peck. “Thank you for coming with me.” she says with another kiss that leaves Christen absolutely giddy. “And lemme tell ya, you’re gonna be singing a different tune once I bribe Linds and Son to help me ‘grease lightning’ her up a bit.”

“Right,” Christen says with a nervous chuckle now that she’s reminded that two of Tobin’s best friends are coming to visit for a few days so the three can plan and lock down some details about the food truck plan. She knows she shouldn’t be nervous or anything, it’s just a couple of Tobin’s friends. It’s not like she’s meeting Tobin’s family yet (she doesn’t even want to think about how nervous she’ll surely get when _that_ happens.) But Christen’s inherently a worrier. She wants this first meeting with Lindsey and Emily to go perfectly since the two have known Tobin for so long and she wants to make a perfect impression as the new girlfriend in town. 

Tobin picks up on the flash of anxiousness in Christen’s green eyes and the thin tone of voice in her one-word response. “Hey.” Tobin says to get Christen’s attention because she’s uneasily shifted those green eyes to the side. When their eyes are locked onto each other once again, Tobin brings a tender hand up to Christen’s chin, making sure she conveys how serious the words she’s about to say are. “You’re gonna be a hit, Chris. No doubt.”

Christen gives a sheepish little smile and to try to eliminate any remaining nervousness, Tobin presses their lips together for a slow, confident, comforting kiss. When she pulls back, Christen can’t help but smile stupidly at how such a simple gesture can send a wave of warmth through her entire body. 

After a silent moment of synchronized heartbeats and adoring smiles, Tobin confirms softly, “I’ll meet you at home?”

Home. 

That’s what Christen’s house has become. For both of them. 

Christen nods before getting one last kiss and heading back to her car. She agreed to let Tobin park the truck and do most of the remodeling in her garage because she has enough space to fit almost three luxury cars in there. Of course, she doesn’t have three luxury cars, so the garage is almost the size of another separate house and the majority of the space is empty with a few storage boxes. Christen had been a bit reluctant at first when Tobin asked if she could store the truck in her garage because it seems like a very messy, loud project to conduct. It’d probably bug the hell out of her neighbors and wreck her currently pristine garage, but really, how could she say no with how energized and cute Tobin is? 

~~~

Christen really should’ve rejected the idea of having the truck remodeling in her garage because it is in fact both messy and loud. For the past few weeks or so, Christen has watched her once nice garage with white walls and clean cement flooring, become absolutely demolished with the renovation of this truck. Currently, Tobin’s finishing clearing out the back of the truck and whatever she's doing is ear-piercingly loud and is creating a dense cloud of debris and God knows what else. They’ve yet to order any ovens or friers because the three chefs still haven’t decided on the type of food they want to serve out of the truck. 

But today should be the day. Because today is the day that Lindsey and Emily are visiting and they hope to finally choose a style of cuisine they’ll be serving together. 

“Babe?” Christen calls out from the doorway. It’s clear that all the continual sounds emitting from somewhere within the hazy air of particles are making it hard to hear (for anyone within a mile). 

"Babe!"

Nothing.

"TOBIN!"

To that, the deafening noise stops and Tobin finally pops her head up with immediate concern written on her face. "W-what’s up? You okay?" she asks, finally stepping away from the truck and walking through the debris towards Christen. She's wearing her disgusting work tank top and the mask on her face as well as the big headphone around her neck are clear signs that Christen is probably breathing in some toxic air pollution of some kind.

"No, I’m stressed because Lindsey and Emily are coming soon and I’ve been too busy cleaning the house and I realized that we never made a plan for lunch and I don’t know what everybody likes.” Christen answers in one breath, crossing her arms in front of her to show how exacerbated she is. 

Tobin just chuckles, which may have been a risky move considering how seriously Christen is taking this first impression, but she knows that it’ll all work out in the end. How could it not? “Chris, you’re asking what the plan for lunch is when there’s literally going to be three chefs occupying the kitchen at the same time. We’ll figure something out, don’t sweat.” she says, now close enough to wrap her sweaty, worn-out arms around Christen’s waist. 

Christen tries her best to keep a stern pout on her face with her crossed arms tucked into her, but Tobin’s adorable smile forces a little upward curve on her lips. And Tobin’s dirty tank top clearly displays her tattoos with a sheen of sweat glossing over her tan skin and it's making it a bit hard for Christen to focus on acting annoyed. 

See, the thing about Tobin is that her athleticism and overall attractiveness isn’t a result of hours spent looking at herself in the mirror of a gym. She goes on easy runs every once in a while when she has the time, but her muscled shoulders and toned legs and rock-solid abdomen are a direct result of her job ‒ her lifestyle. It’s from sometimes having to carry entire wheels of parmesan and being able to cut up a watermelon as quickly as possible and, in this situation, renovating a crusty, old truck. But her fitness mainly stems from her extensive knowledge of food ‒ from understanding what’s necessary for her body and the types of foods that make her feel as capable as possible. And Christen’s reminded of this as she feels the heat of Tobin’s lean arms through the fabric of her long-sleeve shirt against her waist.

Tobin seems to pick up on how this tough guy act is slowly cracking and she knows she can crush the entire facade with some sweet kisses.

So of course, she leans in for some sweet kisses.

And of course, Christen leans back with a delighted smile replacing her moody frown. 

“When _exactly_ are they planning on being here?” Christen asks for the third time today because the last two times she had asked, Tobin simply responded that she doesn’t know and she needs to text them to find out. This third time around, Christen’s hoping that a text has been sent and the answer to her question may have a bit more information along with it. 

To her luck, Tobin happily responds, “Linds said her flight comes in around 12, and then she’s gonna give Sonnett a ride when she touches down. So they should be here around 1:30-ish if one of them doesn’t get too distracted along the way.” Lindsey and Emily are set to come to the house as opposed to Tobin’s apartment simply because Tobin spends basically all of her time at Christen’s, so it was the safer choice for introductions and whatnot.

“Wait. 1:30?”

“Yup.”

Christen hurriedly yanks Tobin’s arm from around her waist to bring the woman’s watch up to eyesight. “Tobin! It’s 1:42!”

Tobin pulls her watch back to confirm with pinched eyebrows. “Wow, I’ve been working for like five hours…” she mutters to herself, before looking up to Christen’s much more panicked eyes. “So I guess they’ll be here… any second now?”

Not even a second later and the familiar ding of the doorbell sounds, only amplifying Christen’s nerves. Before she can become any more anxious, Tobin grabs her hand to quickly but calmly walk them to the front door. At this point, both have similarly high energy levels, only Tobin’s is in the form of excitement at getting to see two of her best friends and Christen’s is pure, unadulterated nervousness. 

They race to the front, Tobin eagerly unhesitant in swinging the door wide open to reveal two blonde women, both with wide grins matching Tobin’s. 

“Toby!” the shorter one yells, opening her arms to smother Tobin in a bear hug that knocks the two of them back a bit and the taller one immediately joins in on this unplanned group hug. 

“Sonny, Linds! I’m so stoked yall are here!” Tobin laughs lightly, unable to physically reciprocate the hugs because her arms are effectively pinned to her sides. 

Emily detaches herself and pinches her nose with a dramatic look of disgust on her face. “Jesus H. Christ… you smell worse than spoiled shrimp. I flew across the country and Linds across the damn Atlantic and you couldn’t bother takin a shower before seeing us?” she teases with a nasally tone. 

“Shut up. I lost track of time working on the food truck that _you_ want so badly.” Tobin quips and Emily unplugs her nose to smile back. 

Christen’s been standing back during this entire interaction, unsure of when to introduce herself to the two women she’s been worriedly thinking about meeting all day. She doesn’t wind up having to announce her presence at all because Emily catches sight of her and says, “Well you must be the _actual_ resident of this lovely home because I know for a fact that Toby here doesn’t have enough class for this place.”

“Thank you very much,” Christen laughs before sticking her hand out for a polite shake, which Emily graciously accepts. “My name’s Christen.”

“Emily Sonnett.” she says before leaning in a bit closer and loudly whispering, “Heard you’re a big soccer star around here. Careful with Linds, she’s a big PSG fan. The whole ‘viva la France’ thing.” Lindsey, obviously hearing these indiscreet comments, roughly smacks Emily’s arm with a scoff. “What?” Emily leans back with two surrendering hands like she’s completely innocent in this. 

Lindsey just rolls her eyes before looking back at a chuckling Christen. She offers her hand for a shake as well and smiles sweetly as she says, “Don’t listen to her. I’m Lindsey Horan and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Christen. I’ve seen you on the pitch and you are one of the most skilled footballers I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Christen says with an uncontrollable blush at such kind, frank words, but she’s happy to know that she has a talking point with at least one of Tobin’s friends. 

“Okay, let's get inside before y'all realize that my girlfriend is cooler and you decide to replace me, yea?” Tobin jokes, turning to the side to let her two snickering friends inside. As Lindsey and Emily walk towards the kitchen, Christen sneaks a consolation kiss to Tobin’s cheek, feeling significantly less anxious now. Tobin grins back because she knew without a doubt that Christen was going to be a hit.

~~~

Christen has watched Tobin cook _a lot_. In fact, it’s one of her favorite hobbies and she’s been able to enjoy over six months of watching Tobin cook. A lot. 

There’s something about the way Tobin moves when she’s in the kitchen and preparing a meal. It’s like watching an intimate ritual with how she glides from one area of work to the next. Getting to witness Tobin cooking in the kitchen ‒ in her most raw, natural environment ‒ is having front row seats to an Olympic-level figure skating performance. It’s hypnotically graceful while simultaneously thrilling to watch. It’s rapid, eloquent movements and fast-paced artistry and unwavering confidence and complete, astounding control. And Christen loves just sitting at the kitchen island and getting to spectate this magnificent dance of sorts. 

Having three professional chefs in her kitchen, though, is a whole new level of jaw-dropping grace. No one would be able to tell that Lindsey and Emily have never once set foot in Christen’s kitchen with how effortlessly smooth they work ‒ casually shuffling through her various drawers and cabinets while preparing their lunches. The three chefs flow with each other and it's obvious that even though they’ve been separated for however many months or years, they can still sync up with one another in a snap. 

The three women move in perfect harmony with each other around the kitchen while also somehow each making different types of dishes. Emily looks like she’s making a fried chicken sandwich with a chicken breast that Christen forgot was leftover in the fridge. Lindsey is making a mixed green salad with some of the extra chicken shreds that Emily cut off. And Tobin is making two matching dishes (presumably and hopefully one of them being for Christen) with some homemade penne she made the day before and some roasted vegetables. Something Christen notices that’s even more incredible than the three women's seamless workflow is how they’re all cooking independently on their own dishes while knowing exactly what each other needs as well. While stirring the pot of pasta, Tobin will somehow know exactly when Lindsey needs a grater and will wordlessly hand it to her. And Lindsey will take the grater like she knew it’d be there waiting in Tobin’s hands. When Emily finishes cutting a head of lettuce for her sandwich, she’ll then chop up some tomatoes and leave them in a pile for Tobin to take a millisecond later. 

The entire spectacle is fascinating and amazing and it’s this exact moment during lunch prep in her kitchen that Christen is 100% sure that their food truck won't fall anyway less than an incredible success. 

~~~

They’re all eating their respective lunches in the backyard, basking in the afternoon sunlight beside the infinity pool, when their fairly informal business meeting begins. Christen sits and listens as more of an observer than anything. She has a light training session after lunch, but for now, she’s just happy to watch how the logistics of this business are going to be made. 

“So,” Emily starts with her mouth full of fried chicken. She chews and swallows before resuming, “Let’s start with the big boy question of what type of food are we gonna serve outta this truck.”

Tobin spears a piece of zucchini into her mouth then says, “Well I think the last time we talked about it, we were kinda left at a standstill. Linds, you wanna do french still, yeah?”

Lindsey nods. “Yeah. I just think the only french thing you all have in this country is french fries which aren’t even french.” she comments with a light laugh. “So I think it’d be a really cool thing to serve actual french cuisine in the states.”

“And Sonnett, you want southern food?”

“Hey, I’m just sayin from a business standpoint, that no one is gonna walk by a food truck serving deep fried chicken and grits and buttermilk biscuits without stoppin to get some.” Emily says with a grin.

“And when people realize that authentic french dishes like souffle au fromage and jambon beurre and croque monsieur are just as good, if not better, then they’ll keep coming back. I mean, if we're sticking to a 'business standpoint', we’ll stand out and be unique. If someone wants greasy, fried food, they can just go to KFC anyway.” Lindsey rebuttals with an arched eyebrow. 

“Okay so I didn’t process like half of the dishes you just spewed, but Tobs, what do you wanna serve or which do you think we should do?” Emily asks, and all eyes shift to Tobin.

Now on the spot, Tobin wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin before clearing her throat. She sees the advantages and disadvantages of both options, so she tries to quickly think of the most diplomatic answer that hopefully won't lead to more arguments. “I think they’re both good ideas and I think that they’re results of what you both are most comfortable with preparing.” she begins slowly. “But I think this is an awesome opportunity to kinda steer away with what we’re all comfortable with and maybe learn more about a new type of cuisine, not just a new way of serving it.”

Everyone seems to nod in agreement at Tobin’s insight. She continues, “Personally, I’m really fine with anything we serve. Whatever it turns out to be, I definitely think it'd be cool to have a vegetarian menu item, just as a good alternative, even for non-vegetarians.”

And the conversation still, just as it had the last time they had tried to come to a consensus. 

“I have an idea.” Christen suddenly says and everyone looks with intrigue at the woman who’s been completely silent up until now. “Like, five years ago, we had a game in New Orleans for the victory tour and the whole place kinda gave off the same vibe that I think you two both want in your food truck.” she explains, looking in the direction of Lindsey and Emily from across the table. Both of their eyes are bright, like the same idea is growing in their minds at the same time. “It was like southern-y food ‘cause we were in Louisiana, but there was a huge french sort of influence as well.”

The three chefs are quiet ‒ quiet enough that Christen’s almost afraid that they’re all about to laugh at her for having a dumb idea. But then, with a huge smile, Tobin leans over and plants a smack of a kiss onto Christen’s cheek. 

“Baby, you are a goddamn genius.” she says as she leans back to look at her two best friends, an obvious fire now ignited in her eyes. "Y'all thinkin what I'm thinkin?" They both nod with grins rivaling the brightness of Tobin's now growing on their faces. 

Emily looks over at Lindsey, "Cajun type food is very southern…"

"...And it's got a lot of French influence." Lindsey adds, a satisfied grin plastered on her face.

With this mutual agreement between the two main bickerers now resolved, Tobin looks back over at her proud-looking girlfriend. She goes in for a few more cheek kisses, landing the last one on her lips, before leaving an inch of space between them and repeating happily, "You're a goddamn genius." 

~~~

The last few weeks of Christen's off-season are usually spent relaxing, having vacations, maybe a few miscellaneous soccer-related events, but mostly just relaxing.

And she did get to relax this time around. She relaxed but she also went to the hardware store with Tobin a lot to pick up supplies for the truck (and it wasn't as boring as it sounds ‒ not when Tobin plays around with every tool they pass like the little kid she is). Christen squeezed in a few vacations, but this year, they were all with Tobin instead of by herself, and because of that, they were all adventurous and more extraordinary with the extra company. And she was obligated to take part in some job-related events, but they weren't as burdensome as usual ‒ not with a shiny MVP trophy in her hand and Tobin looking at her all proud and smiley.

She and Tobin like to call it her “off-season of firsts''. It was her first time shopping in a hardware store (" _Chris, you seriously have never been to a hardware store?_ ” ‒ “ _I’ve been inside, I just haven’t had to buy anything!_ ”). It was Christen’s first time eating squid when they went on a week-long vacation to Hawaii. It was Christen’s first time holding that surprisingly heavy trophy, though it wasn’t the first time she felt the unwavering love and support of her surrounding LAFC teammates. And she had met Lindsey and Emily for the first time during this off-season of firsts. 

The name-to-be-determined food truck team has been able to make huge strides in advancing the progress of their truck ‒ both the physical renovation and the management aspects of the budding business. The logistics were planned out in the simplest way possible (with the help of Christen’s organization skills, of course.) They decided to break their cross-country food adventure into sets of different two or three week trips to these various destinations in America. Tobin would drive the food truck itself while Emily would follow with her excessively large truck of hers in order to transport their luggage and extra food supplies. Lindsey would co-pilot with one of them on the road and they'll hunker down at hotels or friends’ houses. In between these trips, they'll each migrate back to their respective hometowns for some downtime before eventually regrouping and getting back on the road.

But it was this plan that Christen helped orchestrate during her “off-season of firsts” that led to another unfortunate first: the very first significant argument in her relationship with Tobin. 

Christen actually had one relatively heated spat when Tobin was still working as her personal chef, consisting of some hangry frustrations near the end of the pressure-filled season. But being that they were both technically working with one another in a professional environment, it never turned into anything more than some short answers and Christen avoiding Tobin altogether in order to not be _that_ bitch that uncontrollably yells at her personal chef. So far in their romantic relationship though, they’ve only had a few bickers, but nothing that couldn’t be solved with amending kisses and sheepish “sorrys” and a good old-fashioned compromise. But in those last couple weeks of Christen’s off-season where she was checking the dates of her national team camps and Tobin was finishing up the details of the food truck, the two hit that dense wall of inevitable conflict.

_"Hey, Tobs?" Christen calls out, catching sight of Tobin's fleeting body in the corner of her eye. Tobin has been working on the truck since sunrise and she's currently rushing to the bathroom to change a bandage because (unsurprisingly), she had gashed a part of her arm when installing an awkwardly huge metal frier into the truck the other day._

_"Um, yeah?" she answers from the bathroom, a bit distracted as she pokes through the various drawers in search of a fresh, new bandage._

_"Can I steal you for a minute? I wanna go over our plans while I have my national team schedule out."_

_Tobin can't find a bandage, mentally cursing herself because she remembers that she meant to go pick some more up from the store yesterday. "Uhh, I'm actually kinda busy. Do you have any extra bandages around?"_

_"Tobin, we really have to get everything planned out." Christen sighs, ignoring Tobin's question as her frustrations begin to rise in her body and become evident through her voice. "I think it'll be helpful to see where we're both gonna be for the rest of the year."_

_She doesn't want to say it, not directly and definitely not out loud, but Christen is honestly really scared about what the remaining year holds in terms of her relationship with Tobin. With all of her national team obligations coming up and Tobin locking down different travel plans for the food truck, the two look to be spending a lot of time apart for the following months and that's a lot of strain to put on a new relationship. These worries have always lingered in the back of her mind, but since their separate plans are becoming more "present stuff" than just "future stuff", Christen feels like now's the time to get everything laid out._

_It's also bugged Christen recently with how it feels as though she's the only one stressing or even thinking about how hectic their future looks. It seems as though all Tobin has been thinking about is the food truck and traveling and cooking and just hanging out. They haven't discussed their future at all and while it's mainly enjoyable to stay in such a paradisiacal off-season bubble, Christen wants (and is motivated now) to burst that bubble and start facing the realities of their future head-on._

_So all Christen can think of right here, right now is getting Tobin to sit down with her_ ‒ _right here, right now_ ‒ _and address their plans. But all Tobin is addressing right now is finding some silly bandage._

_Christen can't help it. She takes her laptop off her crossed legs and rises from her spot on the couch, heading straight towards where she hears Tobin's voice. If she can't get Tobin to come and discuss their future, she'll have to bring the conversation to Tobin._

_When she turns the corner, she sees Tobin squatting down in the bathroom, surrounded by paper towel rolls and extra bars of soap and boxes of tampons. Everything from all of the drawers and cabinets that were previously perfectly organized is all over the surfaces of the bathroom and it only serves to annoy Christen further._

_“Tobin. Can you stop tearing the bathroom apart for a second so we can talk about this?” Christen asks but the aggression in her voice is more commanding than questioning._

_Tobin pops her head up, completely confused as to where this hostility is coming from. But with a stinging arm that’s currently bleeding through her sub-optimal, completely useless bandage, Tobin huffs out, “Babe. I really need to throw some neosporin and a clean wrap on this thing if I don’t want it to get infected.” She goes back to rummaging through the bathroom cabinets, overlooking the steam that’s shooting out of Christen’s ears. “Can we just talk about the future later?”_

_And that comment_ ‒ _said so offhandedly_ ‒ _turns the steam radiating off of Christen into indistinguishable fire._

_“No Tobin! We can’t keep putting this off!” Christen practically yells, adequately starling Tobin with the sudden volume spike of her words. Tobin looks at Christen’s angered eyes with some soothing words on the tip of her tongue, but before she can even attempt to speak these words, Christen continues her rant._

_“I haven’t gotten to plan out all the details, but from the looks of it, while I’m training in Santa Barbara, you’re planning on driving the truck to NYC, right?”_

_Tobin opens her mouth to confirm, but she doesn’t get a single word out because Christen wasn't really asking for a verbal answer._

_“That’s over 2,000 miles or something, Tobin. Over 2,000 miles and I don’t know when we’ll get to see each other again after that. And the reason I don’t know when we’ll see each other is because you won’t just sit down and go over all of the details with me.” Christen lets out a sharp breath, her arms angrily crossed over her chest and eyes that are stinging with unshed, frustrated tears._

_That’s a pause_ ‒ _a deafening pause with Christen’s words still ringing in their ears and weighing heavily on their hearts._

_When Tobin’s pretty sure that there’s nothing else waiting to be spewed at her, she quietly, almost in a whisper, takes the moment to respond. “Chris,” she starts, praying that she won't accidentally enrage the woman any further. “I’m sorry. I’ve honestly just been so wrapped up in the excitement of the food truck, but I haven’t intentionally been ignoring our plans for the future. I promise.”_

_Christen looks away as she bites her bottom lip in a slight flash of guilt. She loves seeing how passionately Tobin works on the truck and how excited Christen’s been herself at witnessing the formation of this unique, unconventional business. And even though it seems like it, she knows that Tobin isn’t the kind of person to deliberately neglect this crucial aspect of their relationship._

_For now though, Christen stays silent._

_Tobin slowly approaches her girlfriend around the maze of bathroom items and takes the chance, now that the previous heat in the room seems to have dissipated, to reach out and slowly wrap her arms around Christen’s shoulders (with one arm sticking out because it’s still bleeding through her bandage). Christen’s a tad bit taller, but that doesn’t stop her from immediately uncrossing her arms to fully snuggle into Tobin’s warm body. They remain in this embrace for a few minutes or hours or days and Tobin’s the first to speak when she mutters softly, “I’m gonna go cover this cut in a paper towel and then I am all yours to go over every single detail of the next six months.”_

_“No, no…” Christen whispers, pulling back from where her head was pressed against Tobin’s collarbone but keeping her arms securely around her girlfriend. “Go get a proper band-aid. It’s gonna be really hard to cook in a food truck when you only have one arm cause the other had to get amputated or something.”_

_They both chuckle, the previous intensity in the room now subsided as they settle back into their usual, comfortable atmosphere. Even while trying to hold back her angry tears, one unsuspecting drop falls from Christen’s eye, but Tobin’s right there to ever-so-gently catch it with the pad of her thumb._

_There are three words in both of their minds_ ‒ _three words that are begging to be set free and be spoken into the universe as they gaze upon one another in an atmosphere of emotions. “It’s too soon…” they both unknowingly think at the same time._

_For now though, Christen stays silent. And Tobin stays silent as well._

_But they both lean in, meeting in the middle of the space between them for a sweet, innocent kiss. A meaningful kiss_ ‒ _one that says those three little words_ ‒ _but sweet nonetheless._

_And for now, that’s enough._

~~~

Christen painfully bumps her hip into the edge of a table. “OW! Tobin!” she scolds as she instinctively starts rubbing the tender area with the hand that Tobin’s not leading her with.

“Sorry, babe.” Tobin quickly apologies. She looks back at her girlfriend, making sure that the black blindfold is still covering her eyes. “We’re almost there.”

“Why’d you make me put on the blindfold to walk through the house and not just before going into the garage?” Christen questions with a huff. She then feels Tobin stop walking, signaling that they’re probably at the garage door now. 

“I don’t know, I didn’t think of that.”

“Clearly…” Christen mutters under her breath, but she quickly wills her pain-caused annoyance away because she knows how downright excited Tobin is right now. After some tender loving care mixed with an equal amount of blood, sweat, and tears, the truck is finally finished. Not just finished with the outside graphics or simply stocked up with the needed tools. She's completely finished and ready for adventure. 

“Can I see it yet?” she asks, itching to get this blindfold off her face. Neglecting a worded response, Tobin positions herself behind Christen and slowly pulls the black cloth up and over the woman’s curly head of hair. 

It glows. Or _she_ glows. In the golden hour of the afternoon, with the sun perfectly hitting every freshly polished surface of metal, the newly renovated, newly finished, truck absolutely glows. Christen wasn’t a huge part of the design aspects of the truck, merely lending her planning skills to the operations and organization of the business, so seeing the final product in all of its flawless beauty is truly a sight to see. 

The only thing she had overheard from the team’s late-night planning sessions was that they wanted the outside paints to be bright ‒ to grab peoples’ attention and really pop. And boy does this thing pop. It looks like something taken straight out of a comic book with a predominantly bright, aqua blue finish and streaks of black and vibrant orange lines painted along the sides ‒ giving the truck a fun, cartoonish sense of action and speed. The blue and orange colors with the black and polished chrome accents look slick and Christen can tell that the wheels have just been washed seeing the reflective black rubber. Tobin has already propped up the concession windows, but near the tail end of the truck in big, orange graffiti style font, are the words, “To’binz Po’Boyz”.

As the two approach the displayed truck, Christen can’t help but laugh at that. She tries to hold it in ‒ she really does. But “To’binz Po’Boyz”?

Tobin doesn’t seem to mind though, actually chuckling herself when they get close enough to touch the vehicle. And knowing exactly what has Christen laughing, she comments, “Obviously I didn’t come up with the name. All credit goes to the one and only Emily Sonnett. Son of a bitch thinks she’s a comedian...”

“But it fits.” Christen states, running her finger along the sleek decals of the truck's new name against the side. “And it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I told her it sounds like we’re a traveling 90’s rap group or something.” Tobin laughs as she starts following Christen around the truck. 

It’s lively with lots of cartoons and doodles and bright colors and it's exactly what Christen could’ve expected and then some. It captures the personalities of these three chefs as young, spirited people, ready to serve fantastic food. Tobin opens the rear doors to reveal the remodeled interior and Christen’s jaw drops at how much it’s been fixed up from when she had first peeked inside with hesitant eyes all those months ago. What was once a literal jungle gym of rusted metal pieces is now a scaled-down version of a state-of-the-art kitchen. It’s almost blinding how every cabinet, handle, countertop, and drawer is freshly polished with not a scratch in sight. 

“Better take in the cleanliness now ‘cause one afternoon in this thing and I guarantee you that every surface will be covered in some sort of mess.” Tobin chuckles as they slowly walk through the few feet of kitchen space. 

Once they make their way back out, Tobin shows off the different panels on the sides that display their menu items and the fancy bluetooth radio console and how they’re going to set up a table for extra condiments and sauces. Thanks to Christen’s input, the team decided on a New Orleans based menu, specializing in popular southern cuisine such as po’ boys and red beans and rice with some french inspired flare shown through some of the sauces and methods of cooking. And unsurprisingly, their list of specialty sandwiches all have some sort of unique name to go with it. What looks to be a chicken-chipotle croissant sandwich is titled “The Great Horan” and the veggie sandwich is cleverly called “Tocasso’s Veggie Sandwich” and the fried shrimp po’ boy is now referred to as “Sonny’s Shrimpy Surprise”.

By the time Christen has read through (and laughed at) all of the different menu items, she not only has a wide smile but a grumbling stomach as well. 

“Well can I order something?” she asks in an innocent, higher pitch tone of voice knowing full well that the answer is-

“No, babe!” Tobin chuckles as she quickly wraps her arms around the waist of the now-pouting woman. “You know I wanna show Emily and Lindsey everything while it’s all new and clean.”

Christen stays put with a pout set firmly on her face, even though she knows that Emily and Lindsey are coming to visit tomorrow and that she wasn’t going to get anything served out of the truck, at least for today. 

“There’s not any food in there anyways.” Tobin laughs softly but it doesn’t falter the adorable puppy eyes looking back at her through long, persuasive eyelashes. As her plan B, Tobin closes the gap between them in an attempt to kiss the accentuated frown off of Christen’s face. After a collection of one-second pecks, Christen’s resolve gradually fades and the corners of her lips curl up as she starts trying to length and deepen each of these playful kisses. 

After a much more extended and passionate kiss that leaves them both breathless and dazed, they silently lean their foreheads together and bathe in how _real_ and _close_ everything feels. What was once a whimsical dream thought up late one night by three rambunctious, ambitious chefs, is now an actual, tangible reality. But the reality is also that both Tobin and Christen will be doing their own things for a while. They won’t get to wake up next to each other every morning and go out on fun dates and travel to spontaneous vacations when they want. Reality is settling itself in their lives and they can both feel, in this moment, the weight of what that means. It means that Christen is going to be traveling around with a regimented soccer schedule and Tobin will be on the road running a food truck business. 

Before everything starts to feel too heavy, Tobin ‒ ever the light in moments like these ‒ says, “Luckily for you, there’s a fully stocked kitchen right on the other side of that wall, babe. And I can make you something that’ll fill your belly.”

Christen doesn’t say anything, but simply hums in agreement and satisfaction at the proposed plan, partly because heavy emotions are still lingering in her mind and she doesn’t know if she can croak out any words without possibly breaking down yet.

~~~

_“Hey babe! So I know you probably aren’t awake right now, but I don’t think I’ll be able to call again this afternoon when I’m driving. Ya’know, lame safety and laws and whatnot. I'm just kiddin, but really I just wanted to let ya know how everything’s goin with the To'binz and all."_

_"We stopped at a motel just on the edge of Ohio for the night, but we’re on a pretty good schedule to get to The Big Apple today. Uh, I’m definitely feelin all the miles we've covered so far, but we stopped at this lil mom ‘nd pop place that served, I kid you not, the best goetta I’ve ever eaten. Maybe it was just that I hadn’t eaten anything but boring-ass trail mix for like six hours, but it practically melted in my mouth, babe. I wish I could bring some back for you to try but I’m 100% sure that it would not last long with me or Linds in the truck. Maybe we can go there for a trip or somethin’.”_

_“No major problems so far, which is pretty rad considering that we’re driving across the country and stuff. I thought we were gonna be a bit behind schedule cause Linds took forever when I hit Colorado, but she’s been a good dj, so I can’t complain too much.”_

_“I gotta get back behind the wheel right now, but I just wanna say that I miss you a ton. I know you’re out there killin it on the pitch and I really, really, really, can’t wait to see you again in… two weeks? I think that’s when you have a game in Jersey and we're meetin up. I'll double-check though. Okay, I just saw Sonny tryin to steal some of our snacks from out of the truck, I should really go. I lo-. Um… I miss you a lot. Have a good time at camp, babe!"_

~~~

_"Hi Tobs! Just got back to the hotel from training and, wow, I’m tired. It’s almost like off-season was six years long with how sore my body is. But it’s been great, honestly. I love seeing all the girls again and reconnecting and everything. Camp life is just my favorite.”_

_“I know we facetimed yesterday but I guess I still miss seeing your face every day, all day. Who would’ve thought, I’d miss my girlfriend that’s across the country? Crazy, right? Anyway, today’s the last day of camp here in Santa Barbara before going to New Jersey for our friendly and I was able to get you guys some seats so don’t even think about paying for any tickets! It might be a pretty tough game, I’m a little nervous, to be honest. But whatever happens, I’m super excited to see you afterward, and of course Emily and Lindsey. We should try to get away for a date night, just you and me._

_“I am super glad that the truck seems to be a hit over there, but I do miss talking to you. And seeing you. Darn your magical cooking skills! That’s another thing I’m excited about this week, getting to try some stuff from the truck for the first time. Alright, I probably shouldn’t make this voicemail too long since we have a facetime date later tonight anyway, but I can’t wait to see you soon!”_

~~~

_“And it looks like Mallory Pugh will be coming in for Christen Press here. With two assists under her belt, Press’ efforts have been hugely beneficial for the U.S. in their 3-1 lead over Brazil.”_

After showering and changing in the locker room, Christen walks out with her bag over her shoulder and a smile on her face. Getting a couple assists and winning the national team’s first of three domestic friendlies is always a reason for being in a good mood, but all Christen can really think about right now is the shadowy figure leaning against the wall at the back of the stadium. She hurries her pace a little before she starts jogging and effectively pounces into Tobin’s awaiting arms. Uncontrollable smiles shine brightly on their faces as Tobin squeezes her arms tightly around her girlfriend’s waist. 

“Amazing game, babe. Seriously spectacular.” Tobin muffles against Christen’s shoulder. 

When they lean back from each other, Christen responds with a powerful kiss that says “I missed you” and “Thank you for being here” and “I’m so glad to be in your arms again”.

And Tobin knows this as she breaks the kiss and whispers into that centimeter of space, “I missed you too. So, so much.”

The two wrap around each other before Christen switches the strap of her bag to her other side so she can hold Tobin’s hand while they walk towards the parking lot 

“Where’s Lindsey and Emily?” Christen asks, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t seen the two since spotting them in the seats during the game. 

With an almost mischievous grin, Tobin answers, “Well they’re out exploring or getting dinner or something, I don’t know. But I liked your idea of maybe having a date night. To celebrate your win of course.” 

“Ahh…” 

“And who knows, _maybe_ I already have a lil somethin planned for us…” Tobin hints with a smirk and Christen looks up to see, not the expected car, but the giant food truck sitting in the parking lot.

“Am I gonna get my first taste of the acclaimed food truck cuisine that’s sweeping the nation right now?” Christen teases with a smile. It’d definitely be a little weird right now since they’re in the mostly deserted parking lot of the stadium, but she’s hungry nonetheless and anything cooked by Tobin sounds delicious right now.

Tobin smiles, but suddenly opens the passenger door for her. “Yes, but not here.” she says as she holds the door open like a chauffeur giving Christen the VIP treatment. 

Christen chuckles at her goofy girlfriend and Tobin politely takes her bag from her while she climbs into the passenger seat of the food truck. When the door is closed, Christen can hear the back of the truck roaring open for a second before hearing (and feeling it reverberate through the vehicle) the back shut closed and she assumes that Tobin has stored her game bag in the back of the truck. Soon enough, the driver’s door opens and Tobin hops in, quickly turning the key and waking the food truck. Before shifting to reverse, Tobin takes a moment to lean over and give a sweet kiss to Christen’s mouth ‒ no reason said or needed in the moment. Then she backs out of the parking lot and drives onto the road. 

They’ve been apart for a few weeks now ‒ the longest span of time apart so far in their relationship ‒ and to say that they’ve missed each other is a complete understatement. Christen really thought she could handle three weeks away, but it’s almost embarrassing how much she truly missed seeing Tobin. Phone calls and facetimes are nice but they just don’t do face to face interactions justice.

They were able to (finally) sit down and layout all of Christen’s national team schedule alongside Tobin’s more flexible travel plans. In comparing the two, it came as a very welcomed surprise that Tobin would be able to run the food truck in most of the cities that Christen either has camps or games. This first month was the longest time spent separate from one another for the following months and they're both very grateful that they'll get to stay together for most of the remaining year. 

Christen knew she was going to miss Tobin. She knew that not getting to see Tobin's face every day as she had during the off-season would be a completely unfair burden to bear. She knew that she'd miss the trips and dates that they'd frequently go on. She knew that she'd miss Tobin's cooking and her smile and her lame jokes that never fail to leave Christen clenching her stomach in laughter. 

But as Tobin drives them along the freeway to an unknown destination with the sun beginning to make its descent towards the horizon and the only sound coming from the soft music of the radio, Christen realizes that it's all the little things about Tobin that she _really_ missed. It's the little things that Christen never truly realized she missed until she was forced to spend weeks away from them. 

She missed not getting to see Tobin's face, but she specifically missed seeing that faint scar on the apple of her soft cheek from when a tiny piece of a knife blade had flown up as she was sharpening its blade. Christen missed all the trips they used to go on, but right now, she realizes that she really missed the way Tobin will start whistling along to a song on the radio when it gets too high of a pitch for her to sing to. During their time apart, she did miss the cooking and Tobin's smile and her jokes, but as she sits in the passenger seat right now, she also realizes that she missed how Tobin keeps her hand on the gearshift and taps along to the music and how she’ll periodically look over at Christen with eyes that bleed adoration and pure devotion.

Maybe it should scare Christen ‒ how intertwined her life has become with Tobin's in such a short period of time. But right now, Christen's the opposite of scared. In fact, she’s never felt more safe ‒ more at peace.

Before she knows it Tobin is driving up a dark incline with nothing but the fading sun to illuminate the road. Once parked at the top, Christen looks out of the window and sees with wondrous eyes the full landscape view of the city with the sun perfectly setting in the distance. She turns back to tell Tobin how amazing the scene is but all that’s next to her is an empty driver’s seat and some gentle music that's still emitting from the truck radio. Christen hops out of the truck in search of her girlfriend and finds that the concession windows of the food truck are now open with Tobin milling inside the space. 

“Babe?” Christen calls out.

She doesn’t get an immediate response, but once Tobin’s done with whatever she’s doing inside the food truck, she hopes out the back with a small fold-out table in one hand and two plastic chairs in the other. Tobin wears an enthusiastic grin while she silently sets up the pieces of furniture before turning to the back and once again walking out with new items in tow ‒ a candle, a box of matches, and a piece of fabric. And finally, after setting the fabric down as a small table cloth and lighting the candle to softly burn away, Tobin makes her way back into the illuminated kitchen space of the food truck and casually asks, “What can I get for ya, miss?”

Christen laughs at the complexity of it all. _“_ A lil somethin planned _”_ turns out to be a jaw-droppingly romantic date night dinner with a spectacular view of New Jersey. She gazes at the displayed menu for a moment before turning back to Tobin with a smile and ordering the "Tocasso's Veggie Sandwich" and a side of fries. Tobin immediately starts preparing it, quickly grabbing the different ingredients for the sandwich like she’s working the rush hour in NYC (with the fries already partly done since she already started them in predicting that specific order). 

Tobin's a speedy cook, that’s for sure, but Christen can’t help herself as she meanders around the side of the truck and steps up into the back. When Tobin briefly looks up at who’s entered, she grins and continues with the facade she’s started. “Um, ma’am. Customers aren’t really allowed back here.” she teases with a wink as she continues finishing Christen’s order and begins composing her own.

A light chuckle bubbles in Christen’s chest at the lame jokes she’s missed so much, but she stays silent and watches Tobin work swiftly around the cramped kitchen of the food truck (something she’s also missed getting to witness). 

When Tobin finishes her own shrimp platter and veggies, she looks back over to her girlfriend, who’s now sitting on one of the shiny, metal countertops, gazing back at her. 

“I’m done so you gotta go sit your cute butt down in the perfectly arranged chair out front so I can serve it to you. Like we’re in a fine dining restaurant or somethin.” Tobin says with a smart-ass smirk. 

Christen wants to jab something back, but she knows that deep down, this is important to Tobin. This is the first dinner and the first date together after a tortuous amount of time apart and it seems as though Tobin has meticulously orchestrated this night for the two of them. So Christen obediently hops down from her spot on the countertop (but not without stealing a playful peck to Tobin’s lips) before walking towards their makeshift dining area. 

Once Christen plops down in one of the chairs with the candle burning off the wholesome smell of hazelnuts and the view of the city shining in prime sunset hour, Tobin emerges with both of their dinners balancing on her arms. 

“Fine dining indeed,” Christen comments as she takes her paper-wrapped sandwich and a large box of fries (the amount of fries in the box are definitely not a side order quantity, but she’s certainly not complaining ‒ a welcomed advantage of dating the chef). 

Tobin makes her way around the chairs and sits down herself. While the typical clinking of wine glasses can’t really be done here because the truck obviously doesn’t serve wine and Tobin barely made it in time to the game with her drive from New York to pick up any, she raises a piece of shrimp from her plate and offers to clink it with Christen’s sandwich instead. 

“To your dazzling assists today.” Tobin declares, fried shrimp in hand.

Christen smiles and holds up one half of her veggie sandwich. “To a successful first trip with the food truck.” she says.

“To many more assists and trips.” Tobin finishes with a beaming smile. And they bump the piece of shrimp and sandwich together before starting in on their dinner and watching the sun set in the distance. 

When they finish their meals they talk about everything under the moon because the sun is securely hidden with the moon now slowly taking its place. They talk about games and experiences from the road and camps and all the things they would’ve told each other over dinner had they not been separated by multiple states. Christen talks about how grueling camp has been but how the new head coach of the national team seems to know what he’s doing. She trusts him greatly with the operations of managing such a large-scale team. Tobin talks about how working in a food truck has been a wild experience with having to prepare food a lot faster and being cramped in a small kitchen with two other chefs that are trying to work just as quickly. She’s gotten many cuts and burns to add to her collection, but getting to try iconic foods across the nation has been incredible. So far, To’binz has gotten to become pretty popular when they're able to camp out in one spot for a while and with their newly created Instagram, they’ve watched their followers grow exponentially, which is pretty exciting. 

In the middle of promising Christen that she’ll take her to all the nostalgic eats in her New Jersey hometown, Tobin somehow recognizes the distinct, introductory piano notes of the song “Nothing Can Change This Love” as it starts playing subtly from the radio of the truck. Without hesitation (or explanation), she races from her chair and opens the cockpit of the truck to turn the volume up. When she scurries back over she doesn’t sit down, instead choosing to stand in front of Christen’s puzzled self and offer her hand. 

“May I have this dance?” she asks in a deep, alluring voice.

Christen can’t help but giggle at how completely cliché this is. But Tobin remains with her arm out and her eyes full of passion and Christen could never deny such an attractive proposition. So she takes a hold of the outstretched hand and rises from her chair to be led closer towards the soft-sounding music and to the warm light source that's illuminating from the kitchen of the truck. 

_If I go, a million miles away_

_I’d write a letter, each and everyday_

_Cause honey nothing, nothing can ever change this love I have for you_

Tobin smoothly places her arms around Christen’s waist as Christen simultaneously brings her arms up to rest on Tobin’s shoulders. 

_Make me weep, and you can make me cry_

_See me coming, and you can pass me by_

_But honey nothing, nothing can ever change this love I have for you_

And they sway to the grainy sounding lyrics of the song from the truck’s radio. Christen gently places her head against Tobin's chest, if not to simply be as close as physically possible. She can feel how slow and calming Tobin’s heart is as it melodically thumps against her ear.

_You’re the apple of my eye, you’re cherry pie_

_And oh you’re, you’re cake and ice cream_

_And oh you’re sugar and spice, and everything nice_

_You’re the girl of my, my, my, my dreams_

“That’s my favorite part of the song.” Tobin whispers as she angles her down to leave a soft, tender imprint of her lips on Christen’s hairline.

Christen laughs because “Of course it is.”

“Am I really that predictable?” Tobin questions, like she had just revealed some bombshell fact. Christen doesn’t say anything, but she lifts her head and lets an arched eyebrow and a matter-of-fact expression do the talking. Tobin just chuckles and kisses Christen’s lips before saying, “I guess you just know me really well at this point.”

“Damn straight.” Christen says as she comfortably rests her head back down. After two song changes and continual quiet swaying to these different songs, Christen feels Tobin’s throat swallow like she’s about to say something. More curiously, Christen also notices Tobin’s heart starts to pick up, no longer beating in a slow, relaxing cadence. She looks up to try and read from Tobin’s face what the cause of this change is but honey-colored eyes are already waiting there ‒ pleading at her.

Before Christen can question anything, Tobin asks in a faint, almost frail whisper, “Are you happy with our date night?”

It catches Christen off-guard because she obviously loved every single aspect of tonight ‒ who wouldn’t? The entire date has been perfect and incredibly romantic and flawlessly carried out. It slightly concerns her as well because Tobin has never asked that question after any of their numerous dates in the past. Christen brings a comforting hand up to the back of Tobin’s neck, lightly grazing her nails along the soft skin because she knows that the action is usually soothing and relaxing and Tobin looks noticeably anxious and worried.

“Of course, Tobin.” she answers undoubtedly, using her girlfriend’s full name to truly express the sincerity of her words and because the moment suddenly feels much more serious than before.

“Why do you ask?”

Tobin sighs out a breath that’s filled with unwavering emotion, but she responds with a casual, “Just making sure.” 

The mood has shifted ‒ not necessarily in a negative way ‒ but they both feel it. It’s evident in the way Tobin shifts her eyes away and how her grip on Christen’s waist tightens the slightest bit. 

“Hey,” Christen says softly, bringing her hand up to Tobin’s distant facial expression in hopes of reeling her attention back to the present moment. “What’s on your mind?”

It takes a second, but Tobin eventually brings her eyes back to look into Christen’s questioning green irises. She takes a few deep breaths that Christen can physically feel with how intimately their bodies are touching and Christen waits patiently, knowing that the silence isn’t being wasted, it’s just Tobin compiling whatever words she’s about to say. 

Finally, Tobin lets out one final breath before quietly whispering, “I love you.”

Christen feels Tobin’s heart start beating even faster than before, but she’s honestly not sure if it’s actually her heart that feels like it’s pounding out of her chest. It’s the three words ‒ the words that have been held back after phone calls and facetimes and mornings and nights and it's like the chain holding them back is finally broken because, without hesitation, Christen says, “I love you too.”

Tobin looks at her with a flash of surprise in her eyes and Christen can’t help but giggle and kiss all over her girlfriend’s shocked face to emphasize her response. When Tobin is thoroughly kissed and blushing and smiling, Christen leans back ‒ just an inch ‒ and repeats a little louder, “I love you Tobin.”

“And I love you.” Tobin says and the naturalness and certainty behind her words are significantly more prominent than when she had first declared it out into the universe.

And when Christen giggles again, Tobin can’t help but return the gesture and leave little kisses all over her girlfriend’s face.

~~~

The next four months follow in a similar fashion. It’s a lot of phone calls and facetimes and hours on the road, for both of them. When Christen has a game or camp somewhere, Tobin will drive there and station the truck in that location until Christen flies somewhere else and Tobin follows. The national team travels to so many different places so often that Tobin doesn’t even really need to plan any specific cities to hit because following Christen around takes her to a plethora of unique food scenes. 

The national team is doing unsurprisingly well and it doesn't hurt that the star-forward of the NWSL is the main starter for basically all their games. They've gone undefeated so far with shutouts in their last five games and with the Olympics coming up, the U.S. is projected to be gold medalists once again. To add on to all the goodness in their lives, the food truck has grown immensely in their popularity over the last month or two. They started picking up a solid fan base mainly due to the fact that their "New Orleans style southern food with French influence" cuisine has made its way to various online eats lists and featured videos that have really spread their name out to the public. While the To’binz team was initially concerned with constantly moving around and how that would affect the business, it turns out that people seem to enjoy the thrill of the truck changing locations so frequently. They've actually met a few die-hard fans that have followed them to different places in the country just so that they can eat their food again. 

The two women hit bumps along the way, how could they not. Individually, Christen’s trying hard to prevent hitting that wall that athletes at her age seem to always hit. She feels a constant, underlying pressure in making sure her football skills aren't plateauing and that she's always getting better, faster, and more skilled on the pitch. Tobin encounters her own amount of problems with the food truck. Some jackass bumped the side of the truck and dented it, their freezer broke down on the road at one point and all of their ingredients spoiled, and the passive-aggressive (and sometimes physically aggressive) competition in the food truck industry has definitely caused a gray hair or two. 

In their relationship, the distance apart and time separated, no matter how small, is always tough to handle. They've had plenty of fights and arguments to add on as they each focus on their separate obligations while also trying to stay on the same page with one another. Sometimes Tobin will accidentally miss a game if she's running behind schedule and Christen will get annoyed and tell her that she really needs to stay on top of things. Occasionally Christen's training days are so jam-packed that she doesn't have time to hang out and Tobin will get frustrated because she "drove all this way". But they're generally able to communicate and work through their issues and figure out where said issues are coming from. They try to embody the "no rain, no flowers" mindset and, as cliche as it sounds, they're able to both grow as individuals and strengthen their relationship by overcoming these obstacles. Christen remembers that there are always uncontrollable factors when driving and operating a food truck, so Tobin will sometimes not make it to the planned destinations on time, no matter how strictly she sticks to their schedule. Tobin learns to not expect allotted free time with Christen because she's a professional athlete and unpredictability is simply a facet of her lifestyle.

But all in all, their system works out perfectly. Because they decided to run the food truck in separate periods of time, Tobin gets to stay in LA around the same time that Christen is in between national team games and camps and the timing works out well enough that the two usually never have to spend more than a week or two apart. And no matter how hard it is in the thick of it all, at the end of the day, they both love each other. And at the end of the day, that's really all that matters.

~~~

“What do we got goin on for today?” Christen asks after taking a sip of a protein shake. 

Tobin flips a page over and scans her notebook, pen twirling around her fingers as she looks for their to-do list for the day. 

The two are finally back at their home base in LA after some exciting but also exhausting couple of weeks on the road. Christen had her last friendly with the national team for the year and that means that, _of course_ , Tobin wanted to capitalize on this precious month of time together before the entire thing kicks up again with January camp. She decided to take a bit of a hiatus from traveling ‒ something Lindsey and Emily both completely agreed to because they’ve all been wanting some downtime as well. Tobin and Lindsey (who has now officially moved from France to LA) still operate the truck and Emily helps whenever she can get away from her restaurant obligations in Georgia. But for now, they’ve stationed To’binz indefinitely in LA, at least until the new year. 

“Right, so we got the farmer’s market this morning, then you’re training for a while before that lunch date with Mal and unfortunately, I got closing duty tonight for the truck. But after I get back, we can watch that new series on Hulu you’ve been eyeing.” Tobin lists off, finishing with a content smile. 

“Sounds like a fun day,” Christen gleams because even though it may sound mundane to some, she finds that these types of laid back days are a very welcomed break from the usual nonstop pace of her life. Once she finishes off her shake, she looks at Tobin with puckered lips, asking for a kiss. Tobin obviously obliges, humming at the taste of the triple fudge protein from Christen’s lips. 

When she leans back a mere inch, she asks, “Ready for the market?” And with an eager nod, the two gather their things and head out the door. 

The farmer’s market is always a blast and it's something that Christen never knew would bring her so much joy (another “first” to add to the list). All of the sellers there are so refreshingly friendly and kind and going with Tobin makes it that much more entertaining. Tobin has gone to the market for years to buy fresh produce for her clients so she’s a familiar face to most of the vendors and soon enough, Christen starts becoming more of a regular as well. She always takes a minute or two to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Sherman, even if she doesn’t end up buying any of their produce and she seems to find herself at the hummus booth every time they go. 

After they get all the produce they need (where they indulged in some juicy orange samples that are in season) and drop off the goods at the house, they reluctantly split with “I love you’s” as Tobin drives to where the food truck is stationed and Christen drives to the field. She doesn’t have any club or country duties, but being the perfectionist that she is, it doesn’t stop her from going out at least a few times a week and keeping up with her football skills. 

Tobin heads to the warehouse where they keep To’binz during non-business hours as well as where most of their ingredients are stored since they’ve hunkered down in LA. Once she parks her car she goes through the motions of loading the truck with the usual amount of food they’ll need to last the day and making sure the different kitchen appliances are all operational. When everything’s good to go, she waits the extra few minutes it takes for Lindsey and Emily to finally show up late. Emily has been able to stay in LA a lot more to help run the truck, but that usually means that the two show up even later than when it’s only Lindsey. 

Before she even sees them, Tobin can hear a familiar voice exclaim, “Em, we can’t just throw fried chicken on everything!” from outside of the building. Soon enough, the two blonds walk into the warehouse, unsurprisingly arguing about something. The two have this constant back and forth disagreement, frequently concerning their different ideas with the food truck’s menu. Emily is constantly trying to make it more “southern” by wanting to add more fried chicken to their menu because to her, having only one fried chicken sandwich is a crime. Lindsey on the other hand wants to add more French aspects to their menu items, like crepes and fondue and flambeing things. It’s mainly playful fluff ‒ just arguing for the sake of arguing and trying to get each other riled up ‒ but nonetheless, the same squabble is brought up in some capacity almost every day. 

“Linessi, you just don’t understand ‘cause you still got that minimal French palette. If you ate fried chicken every day like I do, you’d get a taste for it and you’d understand why it makes every single meal better.” 

“If I ate fried chicken every day I’d probably get some form of heart disease and end up hating it even more.” Lindsey rebuttals with an exacerbated tone. When the two get closer to where Tobin’s waiting against the front of the food truck, Lindsey asks, “Tobs, wouldn’t it be kinda weird to add fried chicken and waffles to our menu?”

Tobin looks at the two pairs of expectant, vibrantly childish eyes. With a light chuckle (because how are they already arguing before the day has even truly started), Tobin answers, “As delicious as it sounds, I’m gonna say a ‘no’ to serving chicken and waffles.”

“Ugggg!”

“Yes!”

“Okay you two, let’s hit the road. We got some LA folks to feed! ” Tobin proclaims with a loud, argument-ending clap. She walks around to hop into the driver's seat while Lindsey takes her place in the passenger seat and Emily reluctantly makes her way to the back where she’s forced to stand and hold on for dear life. 

They drive to their usual spot near the beach, finding that this particular location tends to bring the most amount of customers. They might switch it up on occasion, especially if they know there’s a big crowd event happening somewhere else in the city. But working with a nice view of the ocean and generally decent weather and generally decent people ain’t too shabby. 

When they pull up to their spot along the curb, there are already a few daily regulars waiting for them. It brings a smile to Tobin’s face, seeing how much their food has impacted these peoples’ lives to the point where they’re willing to stand around waiting to have a bite. After parking and jumping out of the seat, Tobin walks around to the side of the truck and props open the concession panels ‒ promptly opening up for the day. 

“Hey Johnny! How’s your mornin been?” Tobin asks one of their frequent customers as she grabs a fold-out sign from out of the truck to prop out front. 

“Better now that you gals are here!” he responds with a smile. “Think I could get another bowl of gumbo again?”

“Only for you,” Tobin grins with a wink, taking the money extended to her by the upbeat man. She makes her way into the back where Emily has already started frying up some fries and hush puppies and Lindsey joins soon after setting up their condiment table.

That’s a special attribute of their food truck that effectively seems to draw people in ‒ their flexibility with what they cook. Yes, they have their official menu posted on the side windows but if a friendly-face like Johnny asks if they can whip up a bowl of gumbo (something that’s not technically on the menu), they have the ingredients to make it, so they do. Sometimes it’s a bit of an extra hassle, so they obviously don’t blatantly advertise such services, but if a certain request is easy enough to make, who are they to deny the people what they want? Plus, sometimes these exclusive items become popular enough that the team decides to make a menu change, which usually winds up benefiting their business even more. 

“Here ya go, Johnny-boy!” Emily says as she hands him a bowl of steaming gumbo. "We’ll see ya tomorrow, yeah?”

“You bet!” he confirms before slipping a couple of dollars in their tip jar. 

“Thank you for that Johnny. Have a good day at work!” she says with a farewell wave. “Who’s next?”

~~~

Tobin’s standing at the back of the truck as she takes a quick break from the heat of the kitchen to shoot off a text. 

**Christen** ****

**[Tobin — 12:48]**

**Hey babe hope training is goin good.**

**Ur phone is probably off, but i think its**

**gonna be a pretty thin crowd tonight**

**so i might get home early!**

**Love ya <3**

“Back to work, chef!” Lindsey calls out with a grin as she peers out the back from inside the truck. 

Tobin laughs before pocketing her phone and standing at attention like a soldier, hand raised in salute. “Yes chef!” she responds in a formal, boot-camp tone. The two smile like fools before Tobin climbs back into the truck. 

“Em, what’s with the towel and the tape?” Tobin asks as she grabs a fresh loaf of french bread to prep for sandwiches and po’ boys. 

There’s a thickly wrapped towel around Emily’s arm with their emergency duct tape securing it in place. The Georgian chef continues cutting some tomatoes as she casually replies, “Little battle wound, no biggie.”

“Yeah, she lost a battle with a knife when she was dicing an onion.” Lindsey says under her breath to Tobin. 

Tobin chuckles a bit because she knows that accidents like that happen. She glances at the scar on her own finger from when she had been a little distracting while julienning a carrot. “Make sure you get some ointment on that, okay?” she says and Emily responds with a confirming nod as they continue filling out orders. 

Once they get through the typically hectic dinner hour, Tobin’s prediction proves correct as the rest of the night only leaves a few more customers here and there. Because the busy crowd died out early, Tobin already sent Emily and Lindsey home, citing that she can handle the last late-night customers before closing up and heading back to the warehouse. These actually end up being some of Tobin's favorite hours of work in the truck ‒ the only business usually consisting of a few couples still walking about and some night owls looking for a quick, cheap bite. Of course, the adrenaline junkie inside of her loves the busy times as well ‒ with sweat rolling down her forehead from the constant heat and fire of the cramped kitchen as they try to tame a huge crowd surrounding the truck. It makes her feel alive and empowered. But there’s nothing like the quiet times with just her and her thoughts. She can take her time cooking because of the fewer amount of orders and she spends the moments in between to either prep or simply gaze out at the LA streets as they become swallowed by the night. 

She’s starting to pack up some leftover rice (something she’ll probably have as part of her dinner) when she hears someone from outside obnoxiously clear their throat. Tobin’s never been someone who has any strong prejudices, especially when it comes to interacting with customers. This characteristic is what makes her such a good listener and generally very approachable. So even though the thought that initially comes to her head is that the noise sounds almost _pretentious_ , she turns around with an open mind and a smile to take this person’s order. 

When she sees who it is, her body freezes, coloring draining from her face as she feels her heart begin to beat rapidly within her chest ‒ a fight or flight reaction taking over her body. 

“Um, can I order something?” the man asks as he raises a finger to push his glasses up a little. “Your Instagram says that you close in an hour at…” he looks down at his illuminated phone screen. “... 10?”

After what feels like a decade of silence and panic, some hidden switch buried deep within Tobin’s consciousness from her La Fureur days gets flipped and it's like all of her instincts suddenly become hypersensitive. She responds on autopilot but she lets her eyes inspect the man before her ‒ attentive thoughts swirl around her head.

“Yes, we’re still runnin,”

_He looked up our work hours_

“What can I get for ya?”

_His phone is still on in his hand_

The man looks at the side to study the menu.

 _He’s looking towards the menu but his eyes aren’t reading it_ ‒ _he already knows what he’s gonna order_

“What’s in the ‘Sonny’s Shrimpy Surprise’ ?” he asks.

_That information is written on the menu but he wants to hear me say the answer_

“That would be a shrimp po’ boy with five or six pieces of fried shrimp, lettuce, tomato, and our homemade chipotle rémoulade sauce, all in a loaf of fresh french bread.” Tobin recites mindlessly. 

_He's listening very closely_

“How do you fry the shrimp?”

_Asking specific questions_

Tobin keeps her cool as she confidently answers, “We hand toss the shrimp in a mixture of cornflour, cornmeal, celery salt, cayenne pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, and popcorn salt before frying them in peanut oil at about 350 degrees Fahrenheit for a couple minutes.” Luckily, Tobin spent a lot of time collaborating with Lindsey and Emily to orchestrate this menu, so the information is very known to her. And with any other customer, she definitely wouldn’t be going into such extensive detail… 

But this isn’t any other customer.

“I’ll take that then.” he says while quickly typing something on his phone.

_Taking notes_

Once he looks back up from his screen, he readily asks, “And could I also get a side of hush puppies and fries?” 

_Premeditated order_

“Sure thing, would you like anything else?” Tobin asks with a forced smile. 

“No that’s it.”

“That’ll be $18 flat.” 

He immediately presents exactly eighteen dollars, which Tobin takes with a slightly shaky hand. “Coming right up.” she proclaims in the most friendly manner she can muster before turning around and getting right to work with haste. 

As she prepares his food, she periodically glances up to further inspect the man she's currently serving. He mainly stays glued to his phone, which isn’t uncommon with their primarily millennial demographic. And he pensively examines the outside of the truck, which also isn’t uncommon with their purposefully colorful exterior designs. But the two together feel very uncommon. 

Luckily for Tobin’s swift cooking speed, she has a few minutes to spare while the man, still typing away on his phone, continues to wait for his food. She sneakily goes out of his range of sight towards the back where she whips out her phone to send out a simple, three word text. 

**Truckers**

**[Tobin — 21:14]**

**Matthew is here**

That's all she needs to say ‒ no last name, no other details ‒ because she knows that both Lindsey and Emily know who the fuck she’s talking about. And because they are well aware of who she’s talking about, there’s no waiting for a response. 

**[Emily — 21:15]**

**No fucking way**

**The devil critic of LA? Are you sure??**

**[Lindsey — 21:15]**

**Do u need us to come over there?**

**We can be there in like 10 mins**

Tobin peeks up to check that she’s not been seen. That’s the last thing she needs right now, a notoriously ruthless food critic catching her on her phone and not serving him his order. She fires off one last message while the man’s food is still acceptably warm. 

**[Tobin — 21:16]**

**Don’t come, I got it handled**

**Tell Chris I’m gonna be late**

She shoves her phone in her pocket and stops for a second ‒ she doesn’t move, doesn’t think. She just stands there to take a deep breath. Calm herself. Ground herself. Be present in this moment. She knows that this guy can smell fear from a pass away, but lucky for her, any hint of fear has been easily replaced by stone-cold confidence. She’s poise, she’s in control, she’s feeling a little homicidal, but she keeps her hatred under-wraps for the time being. 

Tobin hastily grabs the order of food before heading to the open window. He’s still typing on his phone and right when he raises his wrist to check his watch, she calls out, “Here’s your order,”

He looks in her direction and walks a few feet towards the truck to take the numerous food items into his arms. “Thank you.” he says before questioning, “What condiments and sauces do you have?” 

Tobin almost wants to laugh. First of all, the question is asked like some sort of pop quiz (which is probably because, in a way, this is sort of a pop quiz). Secondly, anyone who so much as _looks_ at the truck, especially as extensively as he has been doing for the last twenty minutes, can see the clearly visible table they’ve set up that’s covered in an assortment of additional toppings. But again, she’s being quizzed right now. So she responds with some good ol' fake enthusiasm.

“Yeah, if you look to your left, there’s a table there with ketchup, barbecue sauce, and lots more options. Feel free to take your pick.” Tobin informs like a damn flight attendant, but it’s an act she knows she’s really got to sell, for the sake of the truck. 

“Ah, I see. Well thank you very much, have a good night.” he says with a closed mouth smile before walking to the table and grabbing some ketchup packets and barbecue sauce and mustard and hot sauce and god knows what else he can stuff his pockets with. 

_I’ll have a good night now that you’re leaving_ Tobin thinks to herself, but obviously doesn’t say out loud. Instead, she goes with a cheery, “Of course, enjoy!"

_Enjoy ruining the lives of countless, world-class chefs_

_Enjoy striping restaurants of workers that actually make a difference in the realm of cuisine_

_Enjoy your fucking po' boy, asshat_

The second he’s out of sight, she lets out a deep breath. The tightness in her chest starts easing up and she decides right then to close up early. She’s got about half an hour left on the clock, but she can’t handle any more customers tonight. She needs to talk to Lindsey and Emily. She needs Christen. 

Before cleaning anything up, she takes a minute to walk towards the rear of the truck, open the back doors, and take a seat ‒ her legs freely dangling off the end of the truck after what feels like years on her feet. She also takes the time to fully go through her messages.

**Truckers**

**[Lindsey — 21:16]**

**Hell yea, you totally got it Toby!**

**Show that prick who the fuck we are!!**

**[Emily — 21:16]**

**Holy shit I can’t believe Matthew Snider came**

**to our truck**

**What’d he order? Did you kick him in the balls**

**for what he did to Andrew?**

**[Lindsey — 21:17]**

**After his bullshit piece on La Fureur, I stopped**

**reading his reviews. What an asshole…**

Tobin can’t help the smile that comes across her face at her ridiculous friends. “Prick” and “asshole” aren’t too far off a description, but the unwavering loyalty these two have for her is something she'll forever cherish. 

**[Tobin — 21:30]**

**Wanted to give him a good left hook to**

**his dumb face, but I held it back haha**

**He ordered a po’ boy and some**

**sides or somethin, idk im kinda brain**

**dead right now to be honest.**

**I’ll tell yall the details tomorrow**

And as further proof that God is truly looking down on her (even after this stunt with the unanticipated food critic from hell), instead of a text message, there’s a voicemail left from Christen. She quickly clicks on the perfectly timed message, excited about getting the relief of hearing her girlfriend’s actual voice through her phone. 

_“Hi, love! So Lindsey just told me about how that same food critic from La Fureur is at the truck right now and that you’re probably gonna be a little late tonight. That’s totally understandable and I get if you maybe want to chill at your own place tonight to kinda process everything, just let me know. I don’t know when you’ll be able to listen to this but I just wanna say that you are an amazing chef. Linds says that this critic is known for leaving harsh reviews, but please remember that this isn’t La Fureur. You are not Andrew. And you make magic when you cook, baby. Anyone who’s ever eaten your food will tell you that.”_

_“No matter what this guy says, he’s just one guy. One ordinary guy who will have his own opinions about things. Don't let his words define who you are as a chef or as a person. I know you can do it and you know you can do it. This is what you’ve been doing all your life and whoever’s eating your food doesn’t change that. Just cook from your soul like you always do and then tell me all about it when you come home, okay? I love you. Go make some magic.”_

Tobin listens to that voicemail on repeat enough times to almost cry. Hearing Christen’s voice is really the only medicine she’s ever going to need in life and listening to this message is the perfect way to end a long, laborious day’s work. 

_Almost_ perfect. 

All she’s gotta do now is to get home. To Christen. 

~~~

“Do you wanna sleep in a bit more? I can go start some breakfast for you,” Christen asks from where her head is laid against Tobin’s chest. 

“Like an editable breakfast or…” 

“Hey!” Christen chastises with a playful slap to Tobin’s stomach. Tobin continues laughing and Christen can’t help but chuckle along as she smooths her hand over the area she’d just hit. 

As both of them have come to find out, Christen's pretty bad in the kitchen. Not just an "oops I poured too much milk into this recipe" sort of bad, but more like a "keep a fire extinguisher close at all times" level of badness. Tobin knows this, but she also knows that Christen is really trying her best and she’s using food as a medium to show how much she cares, just as Tobin has done for her. And as a chef (as well as a supportive girlfriend), she'd never try to actually dissuade Christen from figuring out her flow in the kitchen. 

“I’m kidding, love. I’m good with getting up soon and making something. Just give me like two minutes.” Tobin says with a content sigh ‒ eyes closed and ready to soak up the devoted two minutes of warmth and relaxation in bed with Christen in her arms.

“Don’t think I didn’t see what you just did there.” Christen remarks, lifting her head to peer down impishly at her girlfriend. 

Tobin opens her eyes and gazes back up at the spectacle before her ‒ a slightly sleepy Christen with wildly curly bedhead and an immaculate morning glow. She could get used to seeing this every day. She _wants_ to get used to seeing this every day. But she falls right back into their morning banter with a completely innocent, “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“You totally just deflected my offer to cook breakfast!” Christen scolded, but she can’t even keep any sort of annoyed front when Tobin is smiling like a goof and giggling at her. “We are gonna go downstairs and _I_ am going to make breakfast, Tobin Heath.” she declares through a laugh and another swat at Tobin before climbing out of bed. 

“Yes ma’am,” Tobin responds lowly as she watches the backside of her girlfriend walk off into the hallway. Before anything though, she revels in her last minute of relaxation ‒ eyes closed once again in the fleeting warmth of the sheets around her. 

She’d usually be up and about by now with cooking or making plans for the day or getting ready for work or helping Christen get ready for work. But she’s taking a self-proclaimed vacation from all of her obligations, especially those that concern the food truck. 

This break isn’t rooted in anything negative towards her business and its operations or anything. It simply comes from the fact that seeing and serving the same food critic that took down the career of one of her most impactful friends with a single nasty review, really threw her for a loop. It knocked her back to a very stressful time in her life where morals and rationale and loyalty and the future of her own career were all scrambled up in her head. So she’s taking a day or two to unscramble some things and luckily, she’s got Christen to keep her company and keep her sane. 

After more than one minute, Tobin drags herself out of bed to see what possible chaos her girlfriend has made in the kitchen. When she gets there, she’s glad to see no spilled pools of tahini sauce like last time and instead sees Christen pulling out different ingredients of what she probably wants them to have for breakfast.

If the currently displayed arrangement of tortillas, eggs, cheese, avocado, and bell pepper are anything to go off of, Tobin guesses that today’s meal of the morning is, “Breakfast burritos?”

Christen looks over her shoulder with some mushrooms and leftover potatoes wedges in hand before putting them next to all of the other ingredients and answering, “Yup!”

“Fully loaded breakfast burritos by the looks of it.” Tobin chuckles as she makes her way closer into the kitchen, moving some of the food items to see if there are even more hidden in the pile. When she’s next to her girlfriend, she warns, “I don’t know if this is all gonna fit in one tortilla, love.”

Christen gives her a quick, energetic kiss on her cheek. “Not with that attitude.” she quips before moving and separating some of the ingredients she pulled out to take in the full view of what’s going to be literally _shoved_ into these burritos. 

With another light laugh, Tobin goes to a small closet that has now been designated for all of her aprons and throws one on before washing her hands and getting out some of the different tools needed to prepare everything. But Christen doesn’t perch on her usual kitchen island stool or on the couch. Instead, she saunters over to that same closest to pull an apron over her own body. 

In response to Tobin’s questioning arched eyebrow, Christen simply says, “I told you that _I_ would make breakfast.” As she crosses the kitchen towards where the cutting board is, she lightly swats Tobin’s startled butt. “You can be my sous-chef, Heath.” she states as she pulls out one of Tobin’s extremely heavy, wooden cutting blocks. 

Tobin, while sufficiently shocked, can’t help but chuckle at how her girlfriend is already struggling with carrying the massive piece of wood. When Christen is finally able to drag the hefty thing out, she then looks around like she’s completely lost, probably because she never cooks and she doesn’t know where anything is. She’d be embarrassed to admit out loud that she doesn’t really know where any of the cooking tools are (only knowing what drawer the forks reside in), so she doesn’t say anything and just looks at Tobin expectantly. 

In understanding this, Tobin just walks by her in the direction of where the knives are hanging against the magnetic strip on the wall and grabs her favorite workhorse of a knife. 

“ _Sous-chef my ass…_ ” she mutters indiscreetly under her breath, which earns her another light slap aimed at her shoulder. 

It’s fun though, getting to cook alongside Christen’s culinary lack of knowledge. They usually don’t have time for it with Christen usually answering emails while Tobin’s in the kitchen or both of them opting to eat at a restaurant if they’re already out of the house. The two definitely didn’t have time for it while they were both traveling around on their different journeys across the country. 

It had been a while since Christen had gotten back into the kitchen after the infamous “curry incident” that led to a surprising amount of blood and a few stitches along her finger, but every once in a while, the two will both find themselves next to each other cooking their meals together. It’s obviously not as smooth and graceful as when Tobin’s working with Lindsey or Emily, but it’s lively just as well. The process is also significantly slower because Tobin has to frequently stop whatever she’s doing to help Christen cut one thing or peel another. But it’s a welcomed change of pace from Tobin’s normal non-stop, rapid cooking environment that she’s in most of the time. And Christen makes her laugh more times than she can count ‒ whether it’s after multiple failed attempts at crushing a clove of garlic or spilling half of a stir fry when she tries one of those “fancy flips” she always sees Tobin do. 

Luckily for this lovely morning, there are no hospital trips and Tobin and Christen spend their morning on the upstairs balcony with two very stuffed, on-the-brink-of-exploding, breakfast burritos while basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“Anything planned for today?" Christen asks after a bite of her burrito that’s going to take her an achingly long time to chew and swallow. These past couple of days have been a little different from their usual daily routine. Tobin’s agenda had been pretty busy with running the truck and planning fun little dates and whatnot, but now that she's dealing with any food truck duties, she's on a sort of mini-vacation, filled with just relaxing and hanging out a bit. 

But Tobin has decided that today is the last day of vacation. She feels ready to get back in the truck and cook some great food for the people of LA.

There's just one thing she wants to do…

"Yeah, actually…" Tobin says as she wipes her fingers on a crumpled napkin and sits up in her chair a bit. "So I actually called my favorite tattoo shop in town, the one where I get most of my work done, and I… um- have an appointment this afternoon."

Christen looks at her with eyes of intrigue. She's not mad or anything ‒ though she would've been interested to hear about this plan beforehand ‒ but she's mainly wondering what's prompted Tobin to want to add a new piece of ink to the collection. 

"Oh? You want to get another tattoo?"

Tobin nods, knowing that the question isn't accusatory in any way, but she personally feels a bit shy considering that Christen, for the most part, is pretty square cut and completely tattoo-less herself.

"I'm not mad, babe." Christen clarifies, putting the plate from her lap onto the small table between them. She stands from her seat and securely plops herself down onto Tobin's lap, almost needing the physical touch to further emphasize her words. "I'm really not." she assures as she wraps an arm around Tobin's shoulders. 

"I know." 

"Then why do you look like I'm gonna raise hell if you get a tattoo? You know that I find your tattoos _very_ sexy." Christen winks and leans in for an inviting kiss that they both giggle in to.

When she leans back with wondering, but patient eyes, Tobin sighs, "You know that these past couple of days I’ve been kinda re-centering myself in a way…” Christen nods in understanding, well aware that Tobin needed a deserved vacation from the craziness of the food truck. “But something you probably don’t know is that Emily called her friend who knows Matthew Snider’s editor and he’s apparently planning on releasing a new review very, very soon. It’s part of this new series he’s doing on food trucks in the L.A. area to start expanding his reviews past sit-down restaurants. But chances are, that first piece is probably going to be about To’binz.” 

It makes sense to Christen now ‒ the kind of distant look in Tobin’s eyes with just the faintest hint of fear. So all Christen can do is repeat the same words she said in the voicemail she left the night of Snider’s visit. With a comforting hand cradling Tobin’s cheek, she says, “This isn’t La Fureur. You are not Andrew.”

“I know, I know-”

“-Tobin.” Christen interrupts firmly. She knows it’d be easy to not fully believe the words she’s going to say ‒ words are just words after all ‒ but she wants Tobin to know and to _feel_ how truthful every syllable is. “There’s a reason why the truck’s Instagram has over 25 thousand followers. There’s a reason why crowds of people swarm the truck just to get a bite of what you guys make.” Tobin can’t help but smile, thinking of their loyal fans and foodies all eating what they have to serve. “And there’s a reason why this food critic came to your truck in the first place. He has to see what all the hype’s about, babe.”

“His review could wreck us.” Tobin says, voicing the fears that have been planted in her mind the minute she recognized him from the concession window. “He’s an ass, but he’s accredited. He’s one of the top critics in the city. People listen to what he has to say.”

Christen stares into the scared eyes in front of her ‒ eyes that resemble that of a lost child. After thinking and planning her words for a moment, Christen says, “That’s true.” and she almost hears the faint whimper of defeat within Tobin’s chest. “But at the end of the day, people aren’t going to listen to some random guy’s words over the delicious food that you serve because, news flash babe, your food is _insanely_ delicious.” The corners of Tobin’s lips tug upwards and Christen takes it as a victory. “If his review says you guys are the greatest ever, as it will, loads of people will find out how delicious it is. If his review says you’re trash, it doesn’t change the fact that people will still find out how delicious it is anyways and they’ll come back for more.”

She barely gets her last word out before Tobin is crashing their lips together. It tingles in their toes and has their stomachs doing flips and makes their skin hot to the touch. And when they separate, all Tobin can mutter is a soft, “I love you.”

Christen simply kisses her in response before circling back to the root of all this. “So why is it that you want another tattoo?”

“It kinda goes along with everything you just said, love.” Tobin answered with a smile ‒ a much brighter smile than their previous words had allowed. “No matter what happens with this review, I wanna remember all of the good memories from running this food truck, especially if we end up going under after this. And I want all those good things to be tattooed onto my skin forever.”

“Okay.” Christen responds contently.

“Okay.” Tobin repeats back, giving her girlfriend another quick kiss now that everything that’s been swirling in her head has been spoken. “Would you wanna go with me?” she asks with a hopeful grin. “You don’t have to, I know needles aren’t really some peoples’ thing, but if not…”

~~~

They walk into the tattoo shop with their hands clasped and big smiles on their face. With the adoring looks on their face, people would probably think that the two are off on their honeymoon in the tropics, not a small tattoo parlor in a slightly sketchy part of the city.

“Tobin!” a woman with black hair and vibrant eyes exclaims and she immediately opens her arms for a hug. The only visible tattoo on the woman is a flower design on her left forearm and the way she greets Tobin confirms that must be where Tobin gets most of her tattoos. 

“Hey, Ali! That some new ink there?” Tobin asks, eyeing the woman’s arm tattoo as they greet with a hug.

“New-ish. New enough that you haven’t seen it ‘cause you haven’t been here in so long!” she playfully scolds, but the warm smile on her face shows that she’s simply teasing. 

Tobin sheepishly scratches the back of her neck before saying, “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to get another tattoo for a while, but… yea.”

While the answer is vague and uninformative, Ali seems to know that it's a conversation for a different time. She swiftly changes the subject when she sees Christen standing behind Tobin. “Oh Tobs, _please_ don’t tell me you’re getting a girlfriend tattoo.” Ali directs her eyes to Christen to say, “Listen, I’m sure you’re fantastic, especially if you're putting up with this one, but-”

“-Ali.” Tobin interrupts with a blush before anything else is assumed. “I’m not getting a girlfriend tattoo.” she clarifies. “But this _is_ my girlfriend, Christen. Christen, this is one of my very good friends, Ali.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Christen says sweetly, extending her hand between them. 

Ali takes her hand for a quick shake and replies, “You as well. And I meant what I said. I’m sure you’re fantastic.” 

“Is Ash ready for me?” Tobin asks once pleasantries have been exchanged.

“Yeah, I think she’s finishing up the design you two talked about. You can go back there, she won’t be another minute.”

Tobin grabs a hold of Christen’s hand and they walk past the counter into the back room of the shop. When they reach a bright red door that’s slightly ajar, Tobin knocks against the door frame. At the sound, a blonde woman with a lot more visible tattoos than Ali jerks her head up from where it seems like she’s drawing. 

“Tobs!” Ashlyn yells, quickly standing from her desk and immediately opening her arms for a hug ‒ just as Ali had done. This hug isn’t prissy or lighthearted in the slightest. When Tobin quickly walks into Ash’s arms with her own spread just as wide, it’s a full bear hug that comes from years of friendship and trust and sincerity. 

Tobin eventually detaches from the embrace before turning slightly with an inviting arm towards Christen. “Ash, this is my girlfriend, Christen.”

Even though the two have never met, Ash doesn’t hesitate to wrap Christen up in a hug as well ‒ a hug that isn’t as intense as the one with Tobin ‒ but it’s a warm, pleasant hug nonetheless. It catches Christen by surprise, but she quickly returns the gesture with a humored smile. 

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Ashlyn says with a kind expression that Christen won't have expected from someone who looks like the head of an outlawed motorcycle club. 

“You too.” 

“So I got a sketch here from what we discussed if you wanna take a look.” Ashlyn says, picking up the piece of paper she had been working on. “Obviously let me know what you wanna change. Size, details, you know the deal.”

As Tobin looks over the print, a wide, excited smile grows on her face ‒ a smile that Christen recognizes whenever Tobin makes a breakthrough on a new recipe ‒ and she quickly nods like an eager little kid. “Ash, this is perfect. I think I want just a little bit more orange here…” she says, pointing to an area on the paper. “But otherwise, I’m ready to stick this masterpiece on me.”

“And you still wanna add it to the sleeve?” Ashlyn asks, lifting up the short sleeve that’s covering most of Tobin’s tattoos.

“Actually I think I want it in the same place, just on the other arm.” Tobin says as she turns her body and looks down at the clean, soft skin of her lower bicep. “I think it symbolizes more than just one place I visited, ya’know? This one’s an important left arm-er for sure.”

Ashlyn nods with a proud smirk at how grateful she is to be doing such a significant piece for her friend. “Yea, dude.” she responds, lightly feeling the area on Tobin’s arm to figure out how the curved placement will affect the whole process. 

“Check it, babe.” Tobin says as she shifts so that Christen can see the contents of the paper in her hands. 

It’s an astounding drawing of the familiar To’binz Po’boyz food truck ‒ so realistic in fact that Christen initially thought it was a photograph. But some of the lines and the light smudges on the paper confirms that this is hand-drawn, and it’s hand-drawn amazingly. The entire truck is drawn with skillful black and white linework, but the graffiti-style logo is colored in with the truck’s distinguishable blue, orange hues. 

“Tobin, this is really great.” Christen says, placing a supportive hand against Tobin’s arm. 

“Ya really think so?”

And Christen gives her answer in the form of a definite nod and a wide smile. 

The two continue talking about placement and details and finalizing the design. It takes a while for the finished outline to be drawn and transferred onto Tobin’s skin, but after everything is perfectly designed and perfectly placed, Tobin is absolutely itching in her seat for the actual tattooing process to get started. 

Feeling a little out of place (honestly, since the second she walked into the shop), Christen timidly asks, “Tobs, do you want me in the room when you’re getting it done?”

“Oh. I thought you said you were fine with needles. If you’re uncomfortable then you don’t have to-” 

Christen quickly kisses Tobin’s lips to halt any further downward-spiral rambling and reverse the panic that has flooded into those warm, hazel eyes. She giggles when she leans back and sees Tobin’s surprised, but blissed-out expression. 

“I’m fine with needles. I just wasn’t sure if _you’d_ be comfortable having some with you.”

With a curling grin replacing her nervous, fast-moving lips, Tobin assures, “I would love for you to hang out with me. Help take my mind off of it when we get to the tough parts.” And in response, Christen just leans back in for another satisfying kiss that effectively leaves them both blissed out. And another one. And another one. And-

“Alright, break up the lovefest. It’s gonna be hard tryin to ink this gal up with you two smackin like that.” Ashlyn retorts, now wearing some large, clear framed glasses and two black gloves with a shiny tattoo gun in hand. When she’s settled on a stool with her various supplies on a tray next to her, she turns to Tobin’s eager gaze. “You ready for some new ink?”

Before answering, Tobin looks next to her where Christen is sitting with a supportive smile. She grabs her girlfriend’s hand and brings it to her lips to kiss her knuckles before turning back to Ashlyn. 

“Hell yes.”

~~~

Tobin doesn’t carry her phone. It’s a simple yet frustrating fact that Christen has had to work around since before they were officially dating. She claims that she doesn’t really need a phone, which is actually kind of true. She takes notes with her notebook and if she wants to take a picture, she’ll either right down the time and location of the subject or use the portable, little point-and-shoot she carries with her sometimes. If there’s an emergency, everyone in her life knows that 99% of the time she’s either with Christen or Lindsey and that the best bet is to contact one of them. Christen finds this uniquely annoying but as a compromise, Tobin reluctantly takes her phone with her when she’s working at the truck (and only then). 

But despite this natural instinct to be phone-less, Tobin has been glued to her phone for the last couple of days. She checks it when she wakes up, before and after she takes a shower, during breaks at the food truck, and in every second of free time she has. Her screen time in the last 48 hours has skyrocketed higher than the last couple of years of her life. 

And it’s all in anticipation and fear and nervousness and excitement for one online review. According to Emily’s insider knowledge, it’s supposed to be released sometime during the week before Christmas, and to say that Tobin’s been obsessive over it would, very uncharacteristically, be an understatement. 

“Babe, your eyes are gonna get sunburnt if you keep staring at your phone.” Christen retorts one afternoon as the two relax in the backyard patio, as they do so often. But the only one really relaxing now is Christen as Tobin has spent the last half an hour checking her phone and refreshing articles.

With a caught sort of look, Tobin puts her phone down ‒ screen side down ‒ and says, “Sorry, sorry. I know I need to stop. It’s just-”

“-You wanna read the review.” Christen knowingly finishes her sentence and Tobin sheepishly nods. “Just try to relax right now. Sit back, soak up the rays. Weekends are supposed to be stress and work free.”

“Okay. I think I can do that.” Tobin says before taking a big, deep breath and closing her eyes. They sit together like this for a solid few minutes until Christen starts noticing Tobin’s thumb incessantly tapping against the armrest of her chair. And she can see how Tobin’s eyes are flickering underneath her eyelids and it looks more like Tobin’s trying to play dead than relax.

“Okay, babe.” Christen announces as she abruptly stands from her chair and starts into the house. 

With an alarmed look, Tobin asks, “W-what? Where are you going?”

“ _We_ are gonna try to get your ya-ya’s out and get you distracted long enough for you to stop thinking about that review.” Christen answers from the living room where she’s putting on some socks and her sneakers. Before Tobin can utter a single, questing word, Christen says, “Go get your shoes on! Bus is leavin in two minutes.”

And still in her confused state, all Tobin can do is rush to retrieve her sneakers while wondering where the hell they could possibly be going.

~~~

“How are you allowed in here right now?”

Christen presses her thumb on the door sensor and following the mechanical sound of shifting gears, the door unlocks. “ ‘Allowed’ is a very loose term.” she says with a grin. “But they know I come in a lot and they know I’m not gonna trash the place.”

When they walk through the tunnel, they’re greeted with a stunning view of a completely empty LAFC stadium ‒ the grass having recently been cared for and some goals already set up on the pitch. Obviously, Tobin’s been to the stadium before for games and sometimes to pick Christen up from training. But this is different. This is _so_ different from the engulfing sounds of fans and the distinct contrast of warm, excited bodies with crisp evening air. 

Right now, it’s serene. It’s peaceful. 

“So I think I remember you telling me that you used to play a little in high school, so I thought it could be fun to play around on the pitch together.” Christen says as the two walk across the field towards a bench where they can put their things. They both sit beside each other and Christen starts to unload the training bag she brought that is conveniently kept in her car. 

“Fun? Playing against a professional soccer star with my measly teenager experience? I don’t know about that.” Tobin scoffs, watching as an extra pair of cleats are thrown towards her. 

“I’ll go easy on ya, babe.” Christen says with a wink that tells Tobin she’s definitely not going to go easy. 

The two lace up their boots and start with some easy passing to warm up. Tobin literally hasn’t touched a soccer ball since her high school days, but after some touches, she starts getting the hang of it again.

“This ain’t too bad!” she smiles, unabashedly proud that it’s all coming back so naturally for her. Her smile is just as quickly wiped from her face when Christen smoothly nutmegs her as she continues dribbling towards the goal. With an absolutely appalled expression, Tobin looks down between her feet at the scene of the crime that’s been committed. She spins around to see a pair of coy green eyes and a mischievous grin. 

“Chris!” she exclaims as if expecting a remorseful apology or explanation of some sort. 

Christen merely shrugs, skillfully dribbling the ball back and forth between her feet. “Gotta keep ya humble, Heath.” she quips before kicking the ball back over to Tobin. 

Tobin stops the ball with her foot and a new sense of determination in her head. Revenge flows through her veins. Without another word, she charges full speed at Christen with the ball at her feet, ready for some classic payback but Christen simply shifts her body and dispossesses Tobin in one fluid motion. 

This back and forth continues the entire time and it usually follows that same pattern of Tobin trying to be a sneaky son of a bitch and Christen easily putting her in her place. By the end of some shots on goal, Tobin is huffing and puffing like a wolf with her limbs thrown languidly against the refreshing blades of grass beneath her. Christen’s barely broken a sweat. 

“Hmmm, maybe _you’re_ the one who needs a green juice every morning.” Christen teases as she stands over the drained body of her girlfriend. 

“Hey, I’m technically an injured player.” Tobin pants out with a labored groan, referring to the almost completely healed tattoo on her arm. She squirms her body so that she's shielded more underneath the shadow that Christen is casting on her, welcoming the minimal sunlight after their tiring couple hours of “playing around”. With a merciful laugh, Christen falls onto her knees and brings her body down to lay beside Tobin’s ‒ mimicking her girlfriend's starfish position. She places a placating kiss to Tobin’s chapped, dehydrated lips (with Tobin being too weakened to fully kiss back) before they lay back to _finally_ relax under the afternoon sun.

After what could’ve been hours basking in the warming heat rays, Tobin’s eventually able to compose her heart rate to a normal cadence and breath without gasping for air. 

“Thank you.” she speaks into the comfortable silence.

Christen turns to her with a questioning look but Tobin’s eyes are still hidden by tranquil eyelids so she asks, “For what? Whooping your ass at the sport I happen to play for a living?”

“Ha. Ha.” Tobin deadpans, opening her eyes and taking in the absolute vision that is her girlfriend - black hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and a faint hint of sweat resting on the olive skin near her hairline. It takes her breath away (every day really) and she shamelessly soaks up every curve and edge of Christen’s face ‒ storing it in her brain for eternity.

Christen feels like she should be uncomfortable with being stared at so intensely as Tobin is ‒ the way those honey-colored eyes are boring a hole into her soul. But it’s something that she can understand purely because she knows the feeling every morning the two wake up together. And when Tobin’s dancing around the kitchen making something for breakfast or lunch or dinner. 

So she doesn’t shy away in the slightest. She just lets Tobin look and patiently waits for a response. 

She gets one after a few moments of shameless gazing when Tobin says, “Thank you for doing this for me.”

Christen could jab out another cocky, playful remark, but she knows that it wouldn’t be fair or appropriate for what the situation calls for. “Of course,” Christen responds with as much sincerity as she can convey. 

And the two leave it at that. There are words that could’ve been said but they’re left to be exchanged through more silent gazing and soft kisses and cute, little glances. 

~~~

It happens on Christmas Eve because _of course_ it happens on Christmas Eve. Only Matthew fucking Snider would launch his newest food truck series on Christmas Eve. 

But Tobin’s world is still moving and thanks to Christen, she’s been able to keep busy and keep her mind off of the anticipated, unreleased review leading up to the holiday season. It’s actually a pretty simple endeavor because… well… Christmas. The two had to decide early on what their holiday plans would involve especially with their families and friends and the food truck and their fresh relationship. 

The plan the two decided on (or more accurately, the plan that Christen made with little to no help from Tobin) was to celebrate Christmas Eve and part of Christmas day together before separately flying out to their respective families for some quality holiday time with them before flying back to celebrate New Years together. Tobin was reluctant with having to miss Christen’s birthday (darn that “birthday is annoyingly close to a holiday” curse), but Christen promised that the two could celebrate it along with the dawn of a new year. 

Because they could only spend a limited amount of time with one another on actual Christmas day, they balled the fuck out on the days leading up to their departure ‒ specifically on Christmas Eve. 

Christen’s never been one to heavily celebrate Christmas, at least not heavily in her LA home. She’d put up a tiny plastic tree she got from Target but her celebration of Christmas typically consisted of a party or two and mainly spending time with her family. 

But this year she has Tobin. 

~~~

“I can do it.” Christen huffs out.

“I know you can but-”

“Tobin!”

“Okay, okay.” Tobin finally relents, her hands thrown up in surrender and to show that those same hands won’t continue (rightfully) interfering with Christen’s current endeavor. 

With a tongue sticking out between her teeth and her eyebrows furrowed in piercing concentration, Christen continues slowly cutting through the bars of chocolate beneath the blade of the knife. 

The two are hosting an “almost Christmas” Christmas party for their friends to celebrate the holiday on its Eve since most of them won’t be able to actually be with each other the day of. They were initially afraid that people would be just as busy on Christmas Eve as on Christmas Day, but to their pleasant surprise, everyone invited RSVPed within a few hours (which might have something to do with how heavily they emphasized the fact that some homemade desserts would be made by Tobin. And evidently Christen.)

And that’s why Tobin finds herself mixing some homemade caramel at the stove-top while also cautiously supervising the struggling woman beside her. When Christen enthusiastically wanted to participate in the baking process of Tobin’s famous “Caramel Skillet Cookie”, there wasn’t an option to say no. So Tobin planned on tasking her with the simple stuff ‒ the stuff she couldn’t possibly mess up ‒ because even though Christen knows how to cook (at least the different methods and terms for different foods), the physical aspect of cooking has yet to reach the level of perfection she's able to find on the pitch. Luckily, Christen didn’t mess up these simple tasks, like stirring and measuring. But the second she saw Tobin take out her trusty knife, Christen ‒ glowing with newly ignited kitchen confidence ‒ immediately wanted a crack at using it. 

But Tobin’s knife is her pride and joy. Some people are obsessed with their mid-life crisis cars, others treasure their extensive shoe collections. For Tobin, it's all about this one knife - her caidao, her baby. She sharpens its carbon steel blade religiously and polishes it after every use. So when Christen made little grabby hands at it with the promise that she’ll treat it with the utmost respect, Tobin obviously went through all the need-to-know basics and instructions with her ‒ the pinch grip, the wrist motions, where to put your other hand to not lose a digit, all of it. 

It was surprisingly heavy when Tobin reluctantly handed it to her, but the weight only served to make Christen feel more powerful and, for lack of a better word, _cool_. She’s a mess in the kitchen ‒ a sous-chef in denial ‒ but with this hefty mass in her hand, she feels unstoppable. She finally understands whenever Tobin explains that her knife is “simply an extension of her arm” and with it in her grasp, it truly becomes the food-slicing, meal-prepping weapon that it’s made to be. 

She never wants to put it down. And it only slightly concerns Tobin. 

The current task at hand: chopping bars of dark chocolate to put into the cookie dough. There’s a lot of dough because they need to fill an entire skillet (to make, essentially, a giant skillet-sized cookie), which means that there needs to be a lot of chocolate chunks. And it’s even more chocolate than Tobin’s recipe calls for because, well, Christen was with her at the grocery store. 

But chocolate’s a hard (literally) food to learn about proper cutting techniques on. And Christen is a perfectionist, but she’s stubborn and it’s awkward and every time Tobin sees her forcibly push the knife down without any stability, she can't help but envision a bloody mess spilling onto the countertop. 

After a particularly dangerous loss of control that sends a few chocolate chunks across the cutting board, Tobin timidly comments, “The heel, babe. Remember to keep your grip closer to the heel of the knife.”

With only half of the chocolate bars successfully chopped, Christen finally lets go of the knife with a sharp clanking sound against the cutting board. “Tobin, why does your knife even have a handle if I’m not supposed to put my hand on it?”

“Why aren’t you holding the knife the _safe_ way I showed you?” Tobin counters. 

“Cause... it hurts my hand.”

“Then let me do it, love. Stirring this won’t hurt your hand.” Tobin says softly, looking down at the chip-less cookie dough that doesn’t need to be stirred anymore, but will successfully keep some busy hands… busy. 

Christen wants to finish. She wants to prove something and her competitive drive begs for her to victoriously complete the task. But her hand does kind of hurt (the whole “cutting, chopping, knife skills” thing isn’t exactly muscle memory for her). And she does want to get this done on time so that it’s warm to eat when everyone arrives. 

So swallowing her pride, she just silently shifts to the wooden spoon Tobin was holding and starts some stirring movements as Tobin lightly laughs on her way to the cutting board. Tobin swiftly picks up the knife and finishes neatly chopping up the rest of the chocolate in about ten seconds flat. They finally combine the chocolate pieces and the cookie dough before placing part of it in a skillet, drizzling a layer of their homemade caramel, then adding the rest of the dough and sticking it in the oven. 

After half an hour, the ding of the oven signals the completion of their glorious, heavenly cookie masterpiece as well as the arrival of some early-bird guests. Christen goes to answer the door while Tobin finishes preparing the Caramel Skillet Cookie with another drizzle of homemade caramel. When the door is opened, Emily and Lindsey are eagerly waiting on the other side with different food items in hand. The invite asked that everyone try and bring some sort of dessert and given that most of Tobin’s invited friends are professional chefs, Christen is absolutely beaming with excitement for the anticipated sugar coma she’s planning on being in by the end of the night. 

“Christen!” Emily exclaims ‒ always an energy bomb. She gives a one-armed hug while gripping some tupperware, as does Lindsey. 

“Thanks for coming!” Christen says, backing up with the door as the two women make their way into the house. “Tobin’s finishing up in the kitchen, but there are some dishes on the counter if you wanna plate up your desserts.”

Tobin is placing some snacks out onto a separate table to diffuse the plethora of desserts that are sure to come. The spread is no meal replacement, but it’s a compilation of snacks that are easy to munch on along with a glass of wine in hand ‒ things like chips and jalapeno dip and cheeses and crackers and fruit. When she looks up and sees her two friends walking in, Tobin teases with a grin, “Where’s this earliness in the mornings with the food truck?”

“Watch it, Heath. I brought my legendary palmier cookies AND your favorite kind of macaroons, so you better be nice.” Lindsey fake scolds as she puts her dishes down to walk over and give Tobin a hug. 

Tobin goes to hug Emily next, asking, “And what did you bring as your ticket to this party?”

Emily rolls her eyes but responds in an elitist tone of voice, “Some gourmet, homemade pastries served alongside a drizzling of sweet, decadent drizzling sauce.”

With Tobin’s confused expression, Lindsey leans over and simply clarifies, “She put her leftover Thanksgiving stuffing in a waffle iron and brought some maple syrup with it.”

“Okay, when you put it like that…” Emily grumbles. “I’ll have you know that I added some other ingredients. I am a chef after all.”

“Could've fooled me!” Tobin says, now laughing with Lindsey as the three begin arranging the desserts. Leaning in to inspect the waffles, Tobin would bef lying if she said they didn’t smell pretty delicious, especially with some maple syrup on top. 

“Yeah, probably could’ve.” Emily quips back with a grin, sharply moving her dessert away from the prying nose.

Slowly more guests start trickling in. Most of Christen’s team makes it with their store-bought desserts and a good amount of Tobin’s chef friends are able to make it with their homemade treats in tow. As suspected, the kitchen island that’s housing these gifted desserts starts overflowing with pies and cookies and cakes and brownies and all types of goodies that Christen wants directly in her belly (and many of said goodies do find their way into her belly). 

The party is fun as far as parties without blaring music and fountains of alcohol can go. It’s much more of a get together than a party ‒ everyone talking with everyone around the lower level of the house with their glasses of wine or champagne or other drinks that one would have when they know that their heart rate is never going past sixty beats per minute. The white noise of constant chattering surrounds the room and everyone feels good and festive with tipsy minds and sugar-high bodies. 

It’s during this time that Emily and Lindsey wind up meeting Mal and the three instantly seem to fit together like puzzle pieces that create a vibrant image of complete chaos. Tobin introduces Christen to one of her oldest friends and mentor, Andrew, and Christen is immediately captured by his calm, loving presence ‒ a personality that she can’t imagine you’d ever want to fire from your restaurant. Christen’s too sweet for her own good and ends up inviting her manager, Daniel, to the party. After teasing her a bit about inviting her previous personal chef to “her” Christen Eve party, Christen realizes with a laugh that he has no idea that she’s now heavily romantically involved with said personal chef. And the laughing continues (quite loudly) when she sees the shocked look on his face after he catches her leaning in to cutely kiss Tobin on the mouth. His astonished and confused expression almost makes it worth the headaches he gives her.

It’s only when there’s a loud “HOLY SHIT!” that the casual chatter levels to silence and all heads whip towards one Lindsey Horan. She’s staring at her phone but she eventually looks up and despite every single person’s pair of eyes on her, she finds Tobin’s and beelines. 

“Linds- what?” Tobin stutters out, now being dragged by Lindsey with a firm grasp on her arm ‒ her fingers digging into the image of their food truck that’s forever inked on her still-tender skin. “What’s happening? Are you okay?” Without a response, Tobin looks behind her shoulder to see, not only the other guests watching this scene playout, but also a very panicked expression on Emily’s face as she quickly follows on their heels ‒ suggesting that she has some answers as to what the hell is going on. 

Lindsey yanks her into the bathroom and flips on the light before Emily scurries in and she abruptly slams the door shut. Questions swirl around Tobin’s head and her alarmed heart is effectively beating against her chest because this whole situation suddenly feels like an interrogation or something and it’s kind of wrecking her holly jolly Christmas spirit. She tries to get some answers again, hoping for an explanation as to why she’s been abruptly stuffed into the bathroom with her two friends at their Christmas Eve party. 

“What’s happening?” she asks hurriedly, rubbing the area where Lindsey had been gripping her arm so tightly. 

“This.” Lindsey shoves the phone that’s still illuminated into Tobin’s face ‒ too close to actually be read, so Tobin has to take the device in her own hands to see what’s on the screen. But what she sees makes her body heat up and her hands instantly clammy. It’s just a headline with a preview of the first few sentences, but it doesn’t stop Tobin’s heart rate from tripling on the brink of a heart attack. 

**“Meals on wheels that serves New Orleans style cuisine, offered at ‘To’binz Po’boyz’ — an online review by critically acclaimed writer, Matthew Snider”**

“On Christmas _fucking_ Eve.” Emily says, voicing one of the many thoughts in Tobin’s head. 

“Are you gonna click on it?” Lindsey asks, seeing Tobin’s quivering thumb that’s now slowly approaching the article link on the screen. 

Tobin doesn’t respond ‒ how could she? She has to take a seat on top of the toilet because all of the blood in her body is pumping and beating in her skull and her legs feel like noodles. This story could make or break their food truck adventure. If this critic’s words can get a double Michelin star chef fired from a seemingly untouchable, pristine restaurant, Tobin can only imagine (and unfortunately _has_ imagined) the type of damage this new review could do to their much smaller, more vulnerable business. 

After weeks of being glued to her phone in anticipation of this review, now that it’s in front of her, just begging to be clicked on and read, Tobin doesn’t. She can’t. She freezes. 

But among the dark fears and worries that seem to be constricting Tobin’s mind like a snake slowly squeezing out any signs of hope ‒ a light appears. A light in the form of some words that are able to slip past the tightening crevices of darkness and shine within her mind ‒ her soul. 

_“This isn’t La Fureur”_

_“Don't let his words define who you are as a chef or as a person”_

_“This is what you’ve been doing all your life and whoever’s eating your food doesn’t change that”_

It’s with these words said by the love of Tobin’s life that a cascade of memories pours through like a wave ‒ images of smiles and kind words from customers and all the incredible adventures she’s had on the road with her two best friends and the different cuisines she’s been so fortunate to explore. 

And with a rejuvenated (and fleeting) sense of confidence, she taps on the link. 

And she reads through with slow, attentive eyes that soak up every written word and she soaks up all of the information the article has like her life depends on it ‒ like a gun is held up to her head and one missed word will set off the trigger. Her expression is frustratingly uninformative ‒ staying as neutral as an expert poker player ‒ all the while Lindsey and Emily are about ready to explode with questions and pent up anticipation.

“Well?” Emily says after too long a period of silence, energy vibrating off of her skin. 

To answer, Tobin simply reads aloud the closing paragraph of the article review. 

“ ‘This mobile hotspot hit LA by storm after it’s long-run trip across America. Opening their truck to many hungry stomachs along their adventure, To’binz Po’boyz has seemed to settle in the streets of Los Angeles and, by doing so, have significantly raised the bar for food trucks as well as sit-down restaurants alike. Their unique and diverse menu offers the extraordinary cuisine of New Orleans to the ordinary walker-by and their homely atmosphere can draw in dense crowds of customers daily ‒ as it so frequently does. After trying many of their top-selling food items and speaking with some of their loyal customers, I am not the first (and definitely not the last) to say that To’binz Po’boyz is a one-of-a-kind experience that leaves you wanting more.’ “

The three chefs are silent ‒ every word, sentence, vowel, and consonant echoing in their brain. Then, all at once like a nuclear explosion, the three are yelling and cheering and hugging and tears flow as Tobin springs up from her seated position. And they’re jumping around with exclamations like “FUCK YEA!” and “OH MY GOD!” and “WE DID IT!” and those that can surely hear from outside the bathroom are probably hit with concern as to what could possibly be happening in there. And when they’re done jumping with one another like giddy fools, they realize that they want to take this outside of the cramped quarters of the bathroom. 

They topple out at once and as they excitedly hurry to where everyone is, they see that the party has reverted back to the normal state of Christmas Eve cheer ‒ cocktails, savory snacks, plenty of desserts, and joyful chattering. 

Christen quickly walks towards the three of them with a motherly sense of worry on her face. “Tobs, where were you? Are you guys okay?” she asks as she approaches. 

Without preamble, Tobin grabs her by the waist and crashes their lips into a bruising kiss ‒ one that is much more passionate and heated than any mistletoe kiss but one that tops any climax scene of a Hallmark Christmas movie. When their lips detach, Christen’s eyes are closed in a mix of pure bliss, surprise, and love. 

As her eyelids slowly peel open, she sees Tobin with a blinding white smile and clear, almost glossy hazel eyes. Before Christen can utter out a syllable, Tobin, in a tone of voice that’s evidently filled to the brim with excitement, says, “I’ve got some news.”

**Author's Note:**

> this oneshot is motivated by nourishing lifestyles and a healthy relationship with food. Food is nutrients for the body but its also nourishment for the soul yall. i know i didnt really touch on the subject in this, but i think its important to know, especially in this time we've found ourselves in. stay mindful, stay healthy, stay happy. cheers yall <3


End file.
